Stephanie Plum USMC
by Elenimou
Summary: Stephanie Plum leaves the Burg for a new life. She returns for her cousin's wedding and is drawn into helping her cousin Vincent Plum catch FTA Joe Morelli. Altered version of JE's first book.
1. Chapter 1

_I'm starting to refill my story cookie jar after Home on the Rangeman. First attempts back in the saddle will be short, I'm out of practice. _

_This is a quick AU of JE's first book, "One for the Money." I wanted to use a different Stephanie in the story to see if the premise justifies continuing the character. Not a Cupcake or Babe._

**Chapter 1: Coming Home**

The clouds out the pocket-size aircraft window were uninteresting. I hoped they would part, but the view below would be the dull endless ocean. If the "gourmet" meal due soon didn't hold my interest, I would nap. What a pity, that the highlight of this adventure would be a bland roll with mystery meat, maybe greenery, and packets of condiments to add flavor. The fruit cup might have taste at sea level, but pressurized aircraft cabins inhibited taste buds. Let's not forget the water. The trick on long flights was to sip the water, holding off dehydration but not to tax the bladder requiring crawling over the businessman snoring in the aisle seat.

I'm Stephanie Plum, 27 years old and returning to my family home in Trenton, New Jersey, for the first time in five years. I have no homing instinct, rather the opposite. If my father had not asked me to come home, I would be spending my leave between assignments someplace more exciting like southern Spain or Mallorca.

My birthplace was a section of Trenton called Chambersburg, or more casually, the Burg. Attitudes in the Burg were caught in a time warp, circa 1950. Women married and had children. If they were forced to work, it was because their husband was deceased, too drunk to work, or ran off with the neighbor. Women chose motherhood over college and careers.

I never fit in the Burg. I was the proverbial square peg trying to fit in the round hole. My older sister, Valerie, was the perfect round peg. She fit perfectly. She excelled in ballet, as well as the head cheerleader, senior prom queen, and home economics star. I was not in the social clique to be a cheerleader or a member of the school pride team, an assembly of girls who attended every sports event to cheer the home school and learn the art of gossiping.

Mom tried to mold me into a proper compliant Burg daughter by berating me. "Stephanie Plum, you will never find a boy to marry unless you learn to keep house, sew, and cook the proper meals." My washed windows were streaky, and I ignored unseen dust like the creatures under the bed. When ironing, I often popped off buttons or scorched the fabric. The last attempt to cook under my mother's tutelage required a fire extinguisher lest the house burned down. Worst of all, I disliked babysitting, the training ground for future motherhood.

My self-confidence might have bottomed out from my mother's harsh demands and physical punishment if it had not been for my father. Recognizing his second daughter was not a second Valerie, he took me under his wing, treating me like a son he would not have. My mother was livid, "Frank, she will never grow up to be a proper Burg woman." He would shrug and say, "She will grow up to be something better."

Dad taught me how to hunt, fish, paddle a canoe, and work on cars. I did not learn how to point my toes ballet-fashion, but I learned how to point and shoot a rifle at Sunny's gun range and how to diagnose auto-ignition point problems.

When I took my first deer with a bow, my father beamed. My mother screeched, "You'll get her killed." Later, while ducking hunting, my father smiled, "You are a better shot than I am, Pumpkin." It was a compliment from a former Army sniper.

I did not spend my twelfth birthday with girlfriends getting pedicures and talking about the boys in school. I spent it with one neighbor boy, Eddie Gazarra, and my father rebuilding my father's old pickup truck's carburetor. We had lunch at Pino's. The three of us shared a pizza. Dad had a beer, Eddie and I had root beer. It was the highlight of my day. Dinner from my mother that night was the hated stuffed cabbage, though the cake after was OK. While I would have preferred pineapple upside down or chocolate. The bland white cake with white icing barely helped removed the lingering cabbage taste.

As the mid-teenage years set in, I became more conscious about the motor oil under my fingernails. "Pumpkin, first use the pink hand cleaner. If any stains remain, use darker nail polish," Dad counseled. My mother shrieked, "That is not a nail color for proper Burg girls. Those are colors for trollops. You'll not find a man to marry if you continue to present yourself in that manner." According to Burg canons, a young, unmarried woman wore light pink nail polish and more delicate clothing, not neon colored nail polish, torn jeans and skimpy t-shirts that non-Burg girls wore.

Like most teenagers, I became a consumer. To earn spending money since I didn't babysit, I worked after school job at Tasty Pastry. It was my first flight into independence, but would soon cause me to crash in flames.

One day, Joe Morelli, the school stud and bad boy, sauntered in, locked the shop's door, turned the open sign to closed, lowered the door shade, and forcefully took my virginity behind the cannoli case. Up until then, the only interaction we had been was when I was six, and he was eight. He molested me in his family's garage with a game called a Choo Choo. His finger was the train, and I had the tunnel.

When my mother saw my underwear was inside out, she asked me what had happened. Instead of marching over to the Morelli house to confront Joe and his parents, or even go to the police, I was punished. Ten years later, when Joe trapped me in the bakery, his locomotive was larger than a finger, but I was still the tunnel. Once again, my mother blamed me, this time actually calling me a whore and grounding me for the summer.

Noting my depression, my father wheedled the information from me weeks after the event. He took me to a doctor outside of the Burg for pregnancy and STD testing, but his attempts filing rape charges against Joe failed. Joe had enlisted in the Navy. Dad and Mom stopped talking to one another for nearly a year.

School the next two years were hell with every boy assuming if I gave it to Joe, I'd give it to them. I chose not to date, and as a result, I missed my junior and senior proms. Dad knew I needed to escape the Burg and encouraged me to work hard and earn a scholarship far from Trenton. I was offered a scholarship to Penn State, but my mother refused to let me go more than 50 miles away. Though my choices included Princeton and Rutgers, Mom insisted I attend Douglass, a woman's school, believing I would be free from sexual temptation. She was sure I was a fallen woman just waiting to leave her grasp to begin a wonton life.

At the beginning of my senior year at Douglass, Richard Orr was a surprise guest at the Saturday night family dinner table. Dickie was a young attorney with political aspirations, looking for an intelligent trophy wife. He was charming, good looking, and very sexual. He asked me to marry him as a ploy to get into my pants. I complied. For the first time, my mother started fawning over me, saying how proud she was of me. My father urged caution, explaining my mother was trying to manipulate a marriage for her own gain in the Burg hierarchy. Early in the second semester of my senior year, I missed my menstrual period. Fearing I was pregnant, I caught the train to Trenton to ask Dickie's advice. However, when I walked into his newly purchased condo, he was doing the horizontal mambo on the dining room table with my arch enemy from school Joyce Barnhardt. Joyce was the fat kid with the buckteeth who bullied everyone, causing mayhem for those she most resented. I was high on her list. Since high school, she had slimmed down, straightened her teeth, dyed her hair flaming red, and had breast enhancements. Her wardrobe leaned heavily to town tramp and lived down to the title. She jumped anything with a penis. It did not have to be _Homo sapien_.

Instead of turning around and leaving the house, I became incensed and extremely vocal. Dickie pushed me out of the house. Unfortunately, I was too close to the outside stairs and tumbled down the fourteen metal steps. Not realizing I was injured, my loud rant continued causing the neighbors to call the police. The entire condo-complex population came to watch, including a reporter for the _Chambersburg Chronicle_ newspaper. The next day's paper showed me covered in blood from a busted nose and a head laceration. I was cradling my left arm, oblivious to the fractured clavicle, as I continued to inform the world of Dickie's and Joyce's activity. Dickie was charged with assault, and any hopes of a political career for him were dashed.

The hospital released me and Dad drove me back to school in New Brunswick. No sooner in my dorm room than my mother called and said I needed to apologize to Dickie, or else my life would be ruined. After a major cry-fest, I found my pants bloody. Hospital tests showed I had been five weeks pregnant. Devastated, angry and embarrassed, my secret would remain far from the Burg. Remembering my father telling me how the Army had given him the strength to turn away from being the angry teenager and become a man, I caught the train to Newark and began investigating the various military possibilities. I chose the Marines and would report two months after graduation.

Between graduation and basic training, I was in Trenton as my sister Valerie was getting married. My mother hoped the wedding preparations would encourage me to start looking for another potential husband. Once again, Dad came to my rescue. Sensing I was hiding something, we spent more time together. I broke down and told him about the miscarriage and how I had enlisted in the Marines. When asked why I didn't go with the Army or Air Force, where I might have qualified for Officer's Candidate School, I explained I needed to rebuild myself. He understood.

Knowing the physical demands in basic training, Dad became my coach. After retiring from the Post Office, he drove a cab in the mornings. While he drove his morning fares, I went running before my mother and sister woke and began the wedding plans. My route started with the fastest exit from the Burg possible. On the chance someone saw me and wanted to talk, I would answer I needed to lose a few pounds to fit into the bridesmaid dress for my sister's wedding. When Dad finished his cab runs, we would meet at a park or high school athletic field away from Trenton, where he further trained me. Having been in Special Forces, he knew what I would be experiencing. Urging me through more push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups, he taught me I had more inner strength than I thought possible. After a quick shower at the local Y, we would go to Sunny's for handgun and rifle training.

Valerie's wedding was excessive. The savings my father had for both daughter's weddings were spent on Valerie's. When he told my mother, she was dismissive, "After Stephanie destroyed Dickie, nobody will want to marry her." I felt nothing; maybe thankful, the relationship with Dickie did not go further.

One week after the wedding, I boarded the train for South Carolina, telling my mother I would be visiting friends. Three weeks later my father told her the truth. Her response was, "Good riddance." The dismissal hardly hurt. Mom and I had barely spoken since the Dickie Orr scandal. I had no longer had a primal need for a mother-daughter relationship, my father was my familiar glue.

-0-

The aircraft banked sharply and began descending to Newark. The businessman next to me, snorted awake and turned to speak, "Are you excited to see your family?"

"My father, yes. My mother never approved of my career choice."

He shook his head in disapproval. "My son went into the Air Force to find his way. I'm very proud of the man he became. Perhaps your mother will see the confident woman you have become."

"Sir, in my neighborhood, women are to be married before 21 and pregnant by 23. I've failed to reach their expectations."

"No, Marine, you sailed high over the top. Let them wallow in their insignificance."

It was what I kept telling myself, it was nice to have it affirmed by a stranger. "Thank you, sir."

Dad was waiting for me at the airport's arrival area. I had a surprise for him. I was sporting a new insignia, E6, Staff Sergeant. Though dressed in my cammies, my rank tap was upfront if you knew where to look. He quickly spotted the rocker bar under the crossed rifles. "Staff Sergeant Plum, welcome home," he beamed. We embraced and kissed. "It must be some promotion record to reach E6 so soon."

"It's good to see you again, Dad." I returned to New Jersey or Pennsylvania to meet my father for a few days of hunting or fishing each year, but never ventured to Trenton or the Burg. We spoke often, but on his personal cell phone, not the house phone.

Christmas and Easter were the only times I called to the house. If my mother answered first, our conversation was short. "So when are you going to quit, return home, and marry like Valerie?" My sister had moved from the Burg with her husband, an unpardonable sin, but redeemed herself giving birth to two children in short order. My reply to my mother's question was, "I have a career. I'm not interested in marriage." She would either hang up or pass the phone to my grandparents.

Grandma Mazur's conversations were awkward. She often asked if I was a lesbian because she heard all the women in the military were not interested in heterosexual activity. I told her I was dating men, and the pool was deep with so many rock hard men. She'd then ask if I had killed anybody. I lied and told her the only thing I killed was paperwork. That satisfied her. Conversations with my Grandpa Mazur and Dad were uplifting, if brief, "Hey Curls, how's life? I sure do miss you. Are you traveling around the world?" Grandpa Mazur had passed away two years ago. I miss him deeply.

"Are you hungry, Staff Sergeant?" Dad asked with a smile as we left the airport.

"Yes, sir! Airline food is hardly filling, and it was a long trip from Kabul."

"We will be in Elizabeth shortly. There's a good pub there."

"Irish food, Dad? You eat something other than Italian food?" I said in mock horror. It was an old joke between us. My mother served mostly Italian or pseudo-Hungarian food at home.

He chuckled, "Elizabeth has a large Latino community. I didn't know if you like Caribbean food."

"Do you?" I was fond of Portuguese and Spanish cooking but had not tried Caribbean food.

"I am a man. I eat as long as it isn't your mother's stuffed cabbage."

I shivered in disgust. Mom served stuffed cabbage when I was on her shit list, which was often. "Don't tell me you are on Mom's list."

He signed, "I'm pretty much a full-time resident, Pumpkin."

"I'm sorry."

"Not our fault."

I knew my he and my mother didn't have a loving relationship, but they stuck together because they were Catholic and lived in the Burg. Divorce meant being ostracized, especially for women.

The pub wasn't quite like the pubs in Ireland. This was an American version and where it lacked the Eire decor, it was just as warm and welcoming. "Frank, good to see you again. And this must be your daughter. Welcome," the bartender called out.

"Colin O'Rourke, let me introduce my daughter, Staff Sergeant Stephanie Plum, my father said proudly. "Pumpkin, Colin is a former Marine." I eyed Dad, knowing he did not misspeak.

Colin laughed, "Frank, you know there is no such thing as a former Marine. Once a Marine, always a Marine."

"Oorah," I said with emphasis but quietly.

"Welcome, Staff Sergeant Stephanie Plum, to my humble inn. Your father stops from time to time when he has cab runs to the airport. For a former Green Beanie, he's mighty proud to have a Marine in the family."

My father was a Green Beret in the Army. "Sir, that's why I chose the Marines. I didn't want to have to live up to Hawkeye Plum's reputation," I replied while patting my father's arm in admiration.

"May I get you something to drink? I know not to ask you about an alcoholic beverage while you are in uniform."

"Thank you. Coke or Pepsi, please."

Mr. O'Rourke turned to my father, "Frank, for you?"

"I'm driving. Ginger ale is fine."

"You want anything to eat?" Our host asked.

Dad spoke right up, "That's why we are here. She has been stuck in the flying silver cigar tube or airports for two days. She needs sustenance."

The bartender looked at me wondering what took two days travel to get to New Jersey. "Camp Leatherneck?" he asked.

"Most recently, yes, sir." He was referring to the Marine base in Afghanistan, my home for the last five months. I had caught the MATS flight from Kabul to Germany, but from there my flights were delayed due to bad weather, delaying my arrival by nearly a day.

He nodded as if he knew it. "Iris stew or Rueben sandwich?"

"Yum, both sound great, but I will go with the Rueben," I replied enthusiastically. Corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, and thousand island dressing on rye bread. All had been missing from my food pyramid for the last five months. We had a stew in mess frequently, though not ethnically Irish stew.

"Frank, what would you like?" Colin asked.

"Stew for me." I noticed Dad had slimmed down since the last time I saw him. He caught me looking at him. "I'm watching what I eat, these days."

I had learned to control my moaning over delicious food but found myself slipping with the sandwich. It was excellent and huge. As I wiped my lips, I asked, "Do you think Mom would appreciate me come coming through the door in cammies?"

"No, after 5 years, she still hasn't come to grips with your career choice."

"How long do you think it will take her to asked when I'm leaving the Marines to come home and get married?"

"Is that in your horoscope?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. I sensed he didn't care for the idea.

"Marriage no, but the rest I don't know. I'm being reassigned to Virginia, for the ten months when my contract ends. Do I sign up for another go-around, or get out?"

"Would you be doing what you have been?" he asked vaguely. We had briefly discussed some of my missions when we got together once or twice a year. But having been in Special Forces, he realized there were missions I could not share with him.

"Possibly. I have uncommon skills. The alternative is going with an alphabet government agency. I'll have to see how I tolerate Virginia. As you know, I'm not a big city girl."

He hesitated a moment, "Has anyone approached you about outside work?" He once told me he worked as an independent contractor for a while after he left the Army. In essence, he was a mercenary for the US government.

"Since I've yet to make up my mind what I want to do, no, nobody has come sniffing around."

"It is your life, not your mother's or mine. Don't let me influence you, but I do enjoy having you around. I miss my hunting buddy. At least Virginia is closer than Okinawa or Afghanistan."

His comment hit me right in the little girl pocket deep inside of me. It was sugar cookies, hot cocoa, and a giant teddy bear altogether. This was family love, and I was indeed a Daddy's Girl. "So as not to cause an explosion when I walk in the door, I'd best change clothes here."

"After we eat, I'll get your duffle. Thank you, Pumpkin, for coming home. I know it was a difficult decision." As we finished our meal, Daddy got up and brought my pack in.

"Moving in, Frank?" Colin asked.

"No, time for the Marine to disguise herself as a Jersey girl for her mother."

Colin O'Rourke shook his head sadly. Then looking at me, "Sergeant, do you want to use my office to change?"

"Does it have a mirror for makeup, sir?"

He laughed, "No, makeup wouldn't help my ugly mug. You'd best use the ladies' room."

I took the duffel and disappeared. The desert tan cammies, boots, and everything touching my skin came off. Out came the skimpy undies, the push-up bra, dark, tight jeans that made my long legs look even longer. The red v-neck sweater was the first time I had worn such a bright color in months. The hair was let down and tamed with a curl relaxer. I eschewed foundation makeup but did apply neutral eye shadow, eyeliner, and several coats of mascara. I couldn't bring myself to use bright red lipstick to match the sweater choosing colored lip gloss. The finale was the heeled boots. I bought them during a leave in Germany and though water proofed, I didn't want them salt-stained. Looking in the mirror, I realized I forgot jewelry. Digging around my pack, I found the earrings, simple dangles, not giant hoops. Another look in the mirror and I saw a Jersey Girl again. Ugh.

When I emerged, the bar patrons were evenly split. Some missed the Marine, others appreciated the woman. "Pumpkin, that was you five years ago, but it's not you now," my father said sadly.

"No, but it is mother-expected. I considered wearing my Marine dress blues."

Colin butted in, "Best looking uniform, ever."

I agree. The red stripe, called the blood stripe, down the pant legs makes me look even taller.

-0-

Pulling in front of the Plum house, it looked so small and dated. The yellow and brown color scheme hadn't changed. "Is there some significance to the color scheme, Dad?" I asked.

"I painted it white with dark grey trim last year, and your mother and the neighbors had a fit. One is not allowed to change in the Burg. Nobody knows your street address; instead, they know the paint color. So I had to do it again. These colors are more muted than before. I hate yellow with brown trim, piss, and poop."

I despised the colors as well, but then, maybe we were comparing the life inside the house to the exterior colors. Mom and Grandma Mazur were standing behind the clear glass storm door waiting for our arrival. How they knew when to expect us was a Burg mystery. Maybe neighbor lookouts called ahead. I was excited to see my grandmother, but not my mother. Both women looked older. "Is mom ill?"

"Her tippling has increased," he said, shaking his head.

"Is she an alcoholic?"

"The amount varies with her stress level. Since Edna lives with us, the liquor bill has increased. I had to move the weapons to the hidden gun safe in the basement. Your mother thought I might harm Edna, but in reality, I'm not sure your mother might not be the one to go off the deep end."

The greetings were warm from my grandmother, who had moved in since Grandpa Mazur cashed in his chips. The reception from my mother was lukewarm at best. I was the daughter that always disappointed her and kept her from rising in the Burg hierarchy by failing to marry Dickie Orr. Dad sat in his recliner and picked up the newspaper, pretending not to pay attention, but I knew he was listening to everything.

"Why aren't you in uniform?" my grandmother asked.

"This is a personal visit. I'm not on the job. We are allowed to wear other clothing when not on duty."

"Do you have one of those camouflage uniforms?"

"Yes, ma'am, along with my dress blues and a mess uniform."

"What's a mess uniform?"

"It is for formal affairs, a military version of a tuxedo."

"A tuxedo!" my mother shot out. "You need to look like a proper lady, not a thug, and wear a dress."

"Thug?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Is that what you called Dad when he was in uniform?" I had just delivered by first shot across her bow. I noticed Dad's lips curled up slightly.

Mom began to bluster, but I didn't give her a chance to explain, "To answer Grandma Mazur's question, the formal mess uniform has a long skirt, ruffled blouse, and a top somewhat like a bolero jacket."

"I bet you travel a lot. Where have you been?" my grandmother asked.

"Many places. For example, last year, I was in Djibouti, Okinawa, and Germany."

"Where's Djibouti?" She wasn't the only one not to know where it is.

"Horn of Africa."

"Ah, is that the west or east side?"

"It's on the east side down a bit from Somalia and up a bit from Kenya."

Is that anywhere near the Ebola outbreaks?"

"No, thankfully far, far away. Africa is huge."

"I thought Marines fought in battles. Why were you in Okinawa? Are we fighting there again?"

I glanced at my father as he slowly shook his head at Grandma's question. "There are 100 different jobs in the Marines." I didn't tell her every Marine is a qualified rifleman and trained to fight, if necessary. "No, we are not fighting the Japanese."

"So, what do you do?"

"Mostly, I gather information and give it to other people, and they decide what to do." I left out undercover operations.

My mother broke in, "Couldn't you do that here in the Burg?"

"No." I was curt.I didn't think the button factory or the sanitary products factory were interested in the type of info I collected.

"Are there a lot of hot men?" Grandma asked.

"Just about everyone is hot and sweaty in Djibouti, Grandma."

"That's not what I mean," she said waving her hand dismissively. "Have you dated any hot, sweaty men, or do you prefer women?"

Refraining from rolling my eyes with her repeated references to homosexuality, I answered, "Grandma, ninety-two percent of the Marines are men. Being in the eight percent minority, I have no trouble at all getting dates." Which wasn't precisely truthful with fraternization regulations.

"Anybody special?" she inquired with a twinkle in her eyes.

"All the men are special, Grandma, but with being transferred frequently, it is hard developing relationships."

Grandma as getting frustrated, I was not giving her more gossip-worthy news to share with the ladies at Clip and Curl beauty shop. She sat rolling her dentures around her mouth, allowing my mother a chance to jump in again.

"Why have you waited so long to come home?" My mother intoned as if a prosecuting attorney.

Time to load the howitzer for another round. "According to you, I had to become a housewife and conform to Burg ways. I left to become part of something far bigger and better than the Burg. I use my brain solving complex problems, not comparing cheese prices at Giovichnni's. My job is keeping this country and other countries safe."

"Being a wife and mother is important," my mother shot back.

"For some, but not for me. Too many people are married and bearing children who are horrible at the job. Often the parents care more for their social standing by living through their children's lives than producing intelligent, independent thinking and functioning adults. The world doesn't need more people, it needs better people. I'm trying to be one of those better people." I doubt she saw herself in my explanation, but I noticed Dad did.

"That's not the way you were raised," she scolded.

"Which is why I left." I had so much more to say to her, but I had only just gotten home. If I let loaded another round, I would have to find other accommodations.

Fortunately, Mom veered in a new direction. "Are you here to attend Angela Plum's wedding?"

"As much as I wanted to avoid it, I will. It is why I came back to Trenton."

Ah, she jumped in ready to interrogate me. "Why would you avoid it. It is a family affair, and even though you have avoided your obligation to be here with your family, _others_ will want to see you," she replied.

I felt a slap with the term _others_. Did she imply she didn't want to see me? No doubt, she was feeling my vibes towards her. "Why will they want to see me?"

"What do you mean, why? They are your family," Mom shot back. "At least Valerie made an effort to come home from California last Christmas. It's not easy traveling with two small children. Steven didn't come though. Some people care about their family."

"Family? Why are you suddenly interested in the Plum side of the family? You always went out of your way to find an excuse not to attend Dad's family events. I remember several occasions you used me as your way out. You said I would be an embarrassment."

"I never did that!" she hissed with her "ice tea" glass halfway to her lips.

"When I was six, there was Joe Morelli in the garage incident. Nobody else knew about it, not even Dad, but you used it to avoid Grandpa Plum's birthday. Age eight, when I broke my arm, you and I stayed home from the Fourth of July picnic. I had been wearing the cast for three weeks, there was no reason for me not to attend. You said you were embarrassed I broke my arm. Two years later, I had two skinned knees and a black eye from roller skating. You said I wasn't presentable for a Plum family dinner. You refused to go to two other Plum events citing the Tasty Pastry and Buick events. Of course, there was the greatest incident, Dickie Orr which allowed you to skip Grandma and Grandpa Plum's anniversary party. I'm surprised my being a Marine hasn't left you so embarrassed, you refuse to leave the house or answer the phone. Or do you need more martyr material? Will my showing up now give you a few more years of _poor Helen Plum_. Her daughter is not a woman and disrespects the family by not getting married and having children. Instead, she runs away, joins the military. No Plum or Burg woman has ever joined the military."

Mom was stunned. I had never confronted her like this before. Breaking the Burg leash had allowed me to finally stand up for myself. Helen Plum could no longer rebuke me for my less than perfect Burg actions. I was no longer a member in good standing in the all-hollowed Burg."

"They wouldn't say that," she whined. Wow, fast emotional change. She's more sloshed than I thought.

"Of course they would, and you would be leading the chorus. Being family does not stop Burg gossip. This community thrives on destroying one another. How many times has grandma asked if I'm a lesbian? She's digging for gossip material. You also spread gossip, but also play the victim card to get more attention. But to answer your earlier question as to why I came here, neither of you asked me to come, it was my father who reached out to me. In fact, he is the only family member who makes it a point to contact me and inquire how I am doing. All you two care about is when I'm going to come home and surrender myself to boredom and domestic insignificance."

My mother paused. This was not the wayward daughter crawling home, begging for forgiveness from her and the Burg. I was here at my father's request, the only family member who showed me love and tried to protect me from the Burg.


	2. Chapter 2 Stephanie Meets Vincent Plum

**Chapter 2: Stephanie Meets Vincent Plum**

The blue dress highlighted my eyes. The simple cut fit my broad shoulders, tight waist, and rock hard ass like a glove. The black boots ended just below the dress hem. I wore a single pearl strand purchased in Dubai. It was not costume jewelry, not that anyone here knew the difference. The earrings were single pearl, no dangles. I did not want to call attention to myself.

Contrary to the way my mother preferred my hair, up and contained, today it tumbled down in gentle curls. Even my fingernails were not long talons as seen in the Burg, but short and polished with clear lacquer.

At first, people did not recognize me. I was one of a plethora of nieces, nephews, and cousins born within ten years. When last seen while in college, I was Stephanie Plum with a bit too much pasta at my waist, too much eye makeup, too high FMP shoes, and obscenely large earrings to match my giant Jersey girl handbag. The curvaceous lower middle-class Jersey-look was gone. If I had not been sitting next to my father in the church, I doubt I would have been recognized.

At the reception rumors began spreading. The long lost Plum had returned. People started sneaking over to me to talk. Like my mother and grandmother, all the women wanted to know when I would marry and start a family. When I told them I was in the Marines, they disappeared like cockroaches seeking the dark. The men were just the opposite. They hung around, impressed, and wanted to swap "war stories." All had heard how hard Marine boot camp was at Parris Island in the summer. "Believe it," I answered." Growing up here did not help being in the Carolina swamp."

"How hard were your instructors?" an uncle asked.

"They were nothing like a Burg mother whose daughter can't cook ziti for Friday night dinner."

"Have you deployed to the Middle East?" asked my cousin Bert.

"Yes, among other paradises," I answered. Several men chuckled.

"What do you do?" asked another.

"I support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God." I recited the oath I took at enlistment. I heard some muffled "Oorahs."

One cousin chuckled, "Nice way of avoiding the answer. I take it you don't want to discuss your job."

I smiled sweetly, "It is not I don't want to discuss it, but in civilian talk it is pretty boring."

He smiled, "Humor me."

"I collect information and disseminate it to higher ups."

He smiled, "Gotcha. I was Army Intel. I won't ask anything more in case you can't tell me."

I winked, smiled a thank you, and wandered away. I saw my great uncle Pietro and went to him with a greeting and a kiss. "Zio, can we talk about something in private? It concerns my parents."

He nodded and we went into a private hall. "Zio," I began, "Have my mother and father every been in true love? For as long as I can remember, their relationship seems...strained."

Taking my arm and tucking it under his, he began, "Stefani, I'm not sure Francis has ever been in deep love with Helen. He had a different love in his life. All through high school, they were together and spoke of their future life together. But somewhere in the senior year, she had to betray your father."

"I don't understand _had_ to betray him?"

"She was assaulted and violated by another. She was afraid and ashamed, so she did not tell anyone or go to the police. When it became apparent she was pregnant, her condition was considered an insult to her family. She was forced to marry the man who assaulted and violated her. Francis was devastated and joined the Army to heal. He returned and married Helen Mazur because back then, Burg men married Burg women. Now it is not an issue as most families live spread across the country. His former love still lives here, so he sees her from time to time."

"Is there any feeling for the other woman?" I asked, thinking Dad might find a better second half of his life.

"None, he loathes her for what her son has done to you over the years," he said looking me squarely in the face.

My mind started spinning. Who has harmed me? Dickie Orr and Joe Morelli. Both are from the Burg. But Dickie went to the private Catholic school. I never had interaction with him until my mother put us together.

That left only one. "Joe Morelli?" I asked in a surprised voice.

My uncle nodded, yes. "When he learned of your assault, the whole incident with Angie came back to him. Your parents very nearly separated, but Francis knew he had to stay close to you. For all his pain over the years though, Francis has been loyal to your mother, though he may not fully love her. He has two fine daughters and in a recent conversation with me, he is grateful both have left Trenton."

"Thank you, Zio, it explains a lot," I whispered as I leaned over and kissed his cheek. I walked him back to the ball room but remained in the hall. I needed time to think. I've wonder why my mother didn't tell my father about Joe's assaults on me? Did my mother know it would further destroy her delicate marriage? The problems between my mother and father were far more profound than I thought.

Alone I walked down the hall to a window. Watching the snowfall, I let my mind revisit events throughout my life. My father and Angie Morelli. Now I understand why my mother didn't stand up for me when I was 6. Tony Morelli was still alive. If my father had confronted Tony, would there have been a physical confrontation? Would my father's PTSD have flared up and he'd kill Tony? Or if my father didn't kill him, would Tony have taken his anger out on Angie and Joe? What would happen to my mother's reputation for allowing her daughter to be molested? It was clear now, I was the sacrificial goat on the Burg's altar.

My mother calling me a whore after the rape was a reminder of what happened to Angie. Did Mom assume Angie went after Tony just as I, apparently, went after Joe Morelli? I'm certain neither of us had the strength to fight off our attackers. I remember trying desperately to get away from Joe including trying to use my knee. If I had gotten pregnant, would I have been forced to marry Joe? My mother would see marriage as erasing my sins from Tasty Pastry and the Choo-Choo and complying with Burg canons. What would have happened to my father? Another Morelli man caused him pain. Worse still, Dad and Angie would be in-laws, forever tied to one another through my marriage and child. No wonder my father encouraged me to leave the Burg.

My mind continued to wander, this time to boot camp. Only my father attended the graduation. He stood taller and smiled more than I ever had seen before. I thought it was due to my becoming a Marine. Maybe it was me finding a new life, a new way, beyond the Burg and Hamilton Avenue. "Mr. Plum," the master sergeant said, "Your daughter as been an excellent recruit. At present, we don't allow women into Officer's Candidate School, but after watching her, I believe we will be soon. She has done everything we demanded and done better than anyone else. I am proud to call her a Marine. I understand you were Army Special Forces."

"Yes, sir."

"If she were your son, I would urge him to become a Marine Raider, but such a position also isn't open to women," the sergeant said regret. "I have no doubt she will succeed no matter her MOS."

When it came time for the service's vocational aptitude battery exam, I scored 99, the highest level. For the general tech test, I scored 110, nearly the highest level. Who knew all those hours spent with my father in the garage would help? "Pity you can't become an officer," the sergeant shook his head as he reviewed my scores. I wanted to say, "Your rules," but held my tongue. I couldn't help the Marines were the last to break the sex barricades. But I wasn't after a career, I wanted to know I was the best, no matter where I ended up. I had to prove to myself I was not a Burg failure.

With such a high score but being female, I was limited in my vocation options. There were many tech positions, but I knew the Marines had something else in mind. Intelligence. I could use my brains and not so much of my brawn. At first, I was reading and making suggestions based on the gathered information. Lately, I was the one collecting the information often in perilous situations. As an enlisted solider I was doing the work, out in the field, not an officer stuck behind a desk ordering others. The Marines saw early on, I work better alone or in small groups, not in big companies.

My thoughts were broken and brought back to the wedding reception when I heard, "Well, well, if it isn't the missing Plum. Hello, Steph."

I turned to see my cousin Vincent Plum, my father's nephew. Growing up, Vinnie was small, skinny, and the one who always tried to look up girl's skirts or down their blouses. He also had an unusual interest in pet animals and their genitals. Now he was barely average height, sharp ferret-like facial features from his mother's family, long, dark hair slicked with Brylcreem. Being near him years ago made me uncomfortable. Today I resented the intrusion.

"Where have you been?" using the same tone my mother had used repeatedly throughout my childhood. All Vinnie had missed to completely replicate my mother was placing his hands on his hips.

"Far from the Burg," I said simply. I didn't want to rehash the last five years.

"It must have been some distance that it has taken you this long to come back. What are you doing?"

I needed to be dismissive, "I work for a large corporation with interests throughout the world and travel a lot. What about you, Vinnie?"

"Married, no kids," he said proudly.

Thank God, I thought. The world didn't need any more Vincent Plums. I wondered what bimbo found him and his sexual deviations to be marriage material? I wasn't going to ask.

"What type of work do you do, kid?" he asked.

Vinnie was six years older than me, so calling me kid pissed me off a little short of a lot. No way I'd detail the covert and complex operations I had been part of for the last few years. "Talk to people, get information, " I answered plainly.

He stepped closer. In my boots I was several inches taller than he. His eye were level with my chest and he was exploiting the view, "What information do you think you could get from me?" using his lower sexual voice.

With a barely detected move, I had Vinnie in a hand lock. His face instantly contorted in pain. "Did I mention the corporation was the US Marine Corps? I'm a Marine," I said quietly.

Vinnie broke out in a sweat, maybe from pain or perhaps fear. "Shit," he hissed, trying not to move.

"No, shit is Trenton, especially the Burg. I had to leave to scrape my boots clean."

"Are you a lesbian?" he asked with fear in his eyes. What was this Burg hangup with lesbianism? I knew several girls in college as well as the Marines who favored same-sex relationships. That was their lifestyle, not mine. "No, are you a gelding? I can make it happen here and now."

His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably as he gulped for air. When he looked like he was about to pass out, I dropped my clutch. After a few reviving breaths, Vinnie began speaking. "Damn, Steph, I'm sorry." He stepped back and flexed his hand, trying to get the feeling again, "Why the hell did you go into the Marines?"

"After Morelli and Orr, I had to leave. _Poor pathetic Stephanie Plum. Nobody in their right mind would want to marry her_," I mimicked. "The military allowed me to grow and develop into something far better than a Burg wife and mother."

He rocked back with a grimace on his face, "Speaking of Joe Morelli, have you heard?"

"Believe it or not, the world and I don't give a rat's ass what the Burg thinks, especially about Joe Morelli."

"He's in Vice."

"What's new there? He's always been scum."

"No, no, he's a cop, a detective. But he killed a man down near Stark Street and is now on the lam."

"Like I care?"

Puffed up on Burg gossip, Vinnie continued, "He jumped bond. He's now considered a fugitive."

"He belongs in a deep, dark hole. What idiot bonded him out?" I said dismissively. How beautiful my life has been not dealing with the Burg's ongoing sagas.

"I did," Vinnie answered with a hint of pride overridden with shame.

"You are in bail bonds?" Yeah, it seemed to fit his image.

"I married Harry Ragucci's daughter, and he set me up in business."

"You married Lucille, Harry the Hammer's daughter?" I didn't laugh outwardly, but I was chuckling internally. Harry the Hammer was a hard nose enforcer for one of the Families. Vinnie had to be on the straight and narrow, or else Harry would destroy certain body parts with his tool of trade, a carpenter's hammer. A warning involved severely damaging fingers. A severe retribution required a gun hammer and a single bullet. Apparently Vinnie had escaped Harry's wrath, for a while.

"The same. Anyway, I took a stupid chance assuming Joe was a good Burg boy, and he would stick around. Now I'm out $100,000. Harry isn't thrilled with me. Joe's mother put her house up as collateral. If Joe forfeits the bond, I have to kick Angie Morelli from the family home."

"Is that _Strega_, Grandma Bella, still alive and living with Angie?" Joe's grandmother was truly Old World Sicilian with her beliefs. As children we were not frightened of the Wizard of Oz's wicked witch of the west or flying monkeys. We had a living and breathing witch in town. If one encountered Bella, it was best to keep one's eyes turned to the ground and move on before she cast _Il Malocchio_, the evil eye, on you. No doubt, Bella was wicked and had a large hand in creating the monster Anthony Morelli and the subsequent Joe Morelli.

Vinnie shivered, "Yeah, the old witch will make all my hair and teeth fall out." Subconsciously he put his hand to his head to make certain everything was still in place.

Nodding in agreement, I added, "And probably may your balls shrivel up and your pecker fall off."

Vinnie's eye got wide in fear and the hand that was up on his head dropped down to his crotch. If he started feeling himself, I'd have to do damage to him myself. Assured everything was still in it's proper location, he took a deep breath and continued, "My regular bounty hunter is in the hospital with a ruptured appendix. You are a Marine. What is the saying? You always get your man. Maybe you can help me out?"

"That's the Royal Canadian police who always get their man."

"What do you do in the Marines?"

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," I said a quietly as I could.

"Secret agent stuff, huh? See, you have the brains to find him, and being a Marine, you could find him and capture him."

"Do you want him alive or dead?" I said with a stone-cold voice. I let my cousin wonder if I was serious.

He wrinkled his nose, "Preferably alive. Dead is bad for the business image. The paperwork trail triples." I didn't know if he was kidding. Trenton was home to several lower-level mob families and plenty of retired, higher-level people. As late as the 1980's, people and their cars disappeared. It was assumed the people now resided in the many sanitary landfills in north Pennsylvania, and their vehicle was a compacted cube and at the wrecker yard.

"Legally, I'm not sure I can do it." I doubted the Marines would appreciate me playing Dog the Bounty Hunter during leave.

"Even if you are my temporary employee? I could pay you under the table instead of a capture fee."

"I know nothing about capturing bail jumpers?"

"I can set you up with someone who can give you some pointers. I've offered the guy the job, but he is reluctant. He's setting up a security business and prefers the high bonds for higher pay. Joe's $100,000 bond wasn't considered a high enough for the risk."

"What's a high enough bond for this guy?"

"He started low, with $100,000 but now he won't sniff at anything under $250,000. He does work for several other bond companies here and around the country. He travels."

"What's the pay for bring in a bond skip?" I asked mainly out of curiosity.

"Ten percent of the bond. So Joe is a $10,000 paycheck for whoever brings him in. If Joe isn't brought in, I'm out the full bond, $100,000."

"You mean Harry is out $100,000."

Vinnie looked a bit green, "Yeah."

"What happens to Morelli?"

"If Joe doesn't return to the system, he risks long term jail time." Vinnie answered.

"Joe Morelli in jail? My heart sings," I sneered. I had no love for Joe Morelli.

"Think of it as payback for Tasty Pastry."

"That's why I ran him over with my father's Buick."

"Officially, it was an accident, right?" he smiled. Seeing Vinnie smile was unnerving. It was too close to a leer.

"Yeah, right. Somehow a broken leg doesn't seem like payment enough for two years of hell from my mother and the Burg. Any chance Dickie Orr and Joyce Barndhart are hiding him? I could get three for one?"

"See. I've piqued your interest. Think of it as poetic justice."

"Maybe." I knew I could not work for money. The Marines would not approve of me posing as a bounty hunter, but I could probably do the background work, gratis, for the ailing agent until his return. Plus, the time spent would keep me away from my mother.

"Stop by the bonds office Monday. I'll give you the file and have Connie contact Ranger."

"Ranger? He's your bounty hunter? The one with the now missing appendix?"

"No, Ranger Manoso is the one who refused to case. He can get you started."

With a name like Ranger, I wondered if he drove a white vehicle and wore a mask, Hi Ho Silver!"

-0-

Since I don't own a car and had arrived by aircraft, my only transportation choice was Big Blue, my grandmother's 1953 Buick Roadmaster given to her by Uncle Sandor. The light blue hunk of steel deserved to be in classic auto shows, not patrolling the Burg streets. While comparable in size to a modern midsize SUV, this 1953 bad-boy with its V-8 engine could only crank out 188 horsepower, but sucked gas like a camel at an oasis. Diving the 4800 pound beast around town made me appreciate the strength people had in their arms before power steering.

When I walked into Plum Bail Bonds, I recognized the receptionist. Modern times had passed Connie Rosolli. Her bust was bigger than in high school, but I doubted she needed to for enhancement until she was a stripper at one of the clubs in town. She was wearing a red blouse that accentuated the bumpers. Her fingernail talons were bright red matching her lipstick and blouse. At least she was coordinated. Her dark hair was teased and sprayed into a style that was last seen with the singer, Connie Francis. Maybe it was a tribute to Italian women everywhere.

"Stephanie Plum, I do not believe it is you," she said with her thick Jersey accent. I had spent the last five years trying to lose mine. "You've trimmed down."

"Good manicotti is hard to find." I've whittled off 22 pounds of fat, replacing it with muscle, and still wore two smaller sizes. "How are you doing, Connie?"

"Same old. Vinnie said you are in town for a bit but work in some government job that might help us find Joe Morelli."

So Vinnie didn't tell her I was a Marine. "Yes, I came to see my father and attend Angela's wedding."

"With Morty Beyers out of action, you should talk to Ranger about how to go about bond apprehension."

"Vinnie mentioned his name. He's the guy that now only takes higher bonds. Do you think he can lower himself to talk to me?"

Connie's eyes glazed over and she began fanning herself. Apparently what I said could be construed sexually. I didn't want to follow the possible thought trails.

"Fortunately, he owes me a favor. Let me call him."

Connie was pouring on the Burg woman's guilt as she talked to this Ranger fellow. "She's new to bounty hunting and needs some direction, plus you owe me a favor," Connie said into the phone. Almost immediately, she hung up. "Capitol Diner, 2 o'clock." I had to adjust my mind from civilian time, 14:00 hours.


	3. Chapter 3: Ranger Manoso

_I was going to post every other day, but things have come up so will post daily. There are only six chapters as I'm still playing with continuing the character. From you reviews, you like this new model Stephanie. New stories will have to wait as I need to reread JE's books. I'm prejudiced to your stories, so have to go back to the source._

**Chapter 3: Ranger Manoso**

Ranger Manoso disconnected from his call with Connie Rosolli. For all his work in Third World countries as well as Miami, Atlanta, and Boston, Trenton and in particular Chambersburg, was the most difficult to comprehend. Connie had been useful introducing him into the intricacies of the neighborhood. She knew everyone and their ancestry as well as their connection to various organizations and "families." She had information on the FTA Antoinette Pale. The police file failed to include Antoinette was born Antonio Nostrino and had undergone gender reassignment in Denmark before it became widely available in the US. In the transformation, she had obtained a wig collection to rival Dolly Parton's and a selection of padded undergarments worthy of Frederick's of Hollywood. She could change her appearance at whim from a curvaceous middle-age vixen, pregnant housewife, even back to being a man with artificial facial hair and men's wigs. Ranger's cousin, Lester Santos, nearly had a coronary patting down Antoinette/Antonio during a weapons search. From then on, the possibilities for hiding contraband or a weapon were endless.

Connie's call was inconvenient, to say the least. Ranger and his best friend, Pierre Sherman, AKA Tank for his size, were finishing up a matter on Stark Street and were covered in human feces from a small explosive charge the fleeing FTA dropped in an unflushed toilet. In an instant, the bathroom was destroyed, and all occupants covered with the stench. Before he could meet with Connie's _nuevo_-bounty hunter, he needed to return to his own basement apartment blocks from Stark Street, to bathe and change clothes. Fortunately his vaccinations for tetanus, polio, typhoid fever, and Hepatitis A and Hepatitis B were up to date.

Ranger expected the arranged meeting would be a waste of his time, but it would pay off his debt to Connie. Like so many women, Connie would nearly swoon when he walked into the office. He had used his looks to conquer women all over the world, but didn't want to start laying down a trail here in Trenton as well. This was where he worked, not where he fucked. Few women, out side of the few he had met in the military, had the training, skills, or hunter's sense to avoid being hurt or killed. Would this new bounty hunter be distracted by his looks and expect more than instruction from him? His job today would be to discourage this woman from taking the job.

Sliding into his usual back wall seat, Ranger was twenty minutes early. This gave him time to watch everyone in the diner. Those trying to set him up would not arrive this early for the meet. The waitress brought a cup of coffee without his asking. Ranger often used the establishment for meetings. The coffee would be a prop only. He would not drink the dark liquid but would pay for it with a $20 bill. The smile from the waitress was either her come-on, appreciation of the coming tip, or both. Ranger ignored her.

His attention was drawn out the front window at the vintage car deftly angling into the parking spot in front of the diner. Such a car would be prized in Havana where new cars did not exist and old ones were constantly being restored. He was shocked to see a young woman emerge from the car. When the 5'7" mega trim woman with brown curly hair, china white skin, and blue-eyes entered the diner, Ranger took note. Her clothes were out of style and too large. The heels did show off her ankles and calves nicely. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Perhaps she was working at the nearby courthouse and had yet not earned enough money for better clothes. The woman did not go to an empty table but came up to his. He didn't have time for someone trying to hit on him. He had to watch for what he assumed would be an overweight, short-haired bored housewife or dyke. This woman was gorgeous, but judging from the old Buick she has finessed into a parking space and her ill-fitting clothes, she was in a bind.

-0-

Big Blue must have parking karma, I found a spot immediately in front of the diner door. I wasn't looking forward to prancing all over downtown Trenton in tight fitting high heels and this suit from the back of my childhood room's closet. I could not remember wearing either the suit or the shoes. Maybe they were worn to church or belonged to my mother. The suit was too large. Safety pins took in the excess around the waist. My strong shoulders helped with the sleeve set, but the rest of the jacket swamped my torso. Even the sweater underneath didn't take up the excess. The shoes pinched and were worn.

I knew not to come across to Ranger Manoso as a Marine. I had spent the last few years doing undercover work, often portraying someone different. Today I needed to be a women who had fallen on hard times and was starting over. I would not be a weakling, but I would play the desperate card if necessary.

The cafe held 17 customers, 2 waitress, and a cook behind the kitchen counter. Most of the customers were in suits. Even the women were in business attire, all better fitting than mine. They probably worked at the courthouse. A few blue-collar workers in khaki-colored clothing with safety vests rounded out the clientele.

There was only one man who might have been a bounty hunter named Ranger. Situated at the back of the diner, he was a medium skin Latino, about 6' tall, dark hair pulled into a tail low on his head. A black t-shirt stretched across a very muscular chest, black jacket was open but hid his arms. Catching only a glimpse of his pants, I could see they were camo, digital jungle green, military issue. They were not hunter's Mossy Oak camo design. Boots were black and highly polished. Aside from the long hair, the name Ranger may refer to a recent past in the Army Special Forces. His eyes were like predators as they watched me and everything else in the diner. I had to ignore my Marine stance concentrating on being a Burg woman with hips swinging. Show time.

"Ranger?" I asked noting he did not stand up like a gentleman.

He nodded.

I immediately decided not to remove my driving gloves. Ranger would be expecting soft skin. While my hands weren't callused, they were unusually strong. Extending my gloved hand, "I'm Stephanie Plum. Connie Rosolli called you."

He nodded but did not take my hand. Ah, trying to intimidate me. "May I?" I almost said, sir as I indicated I wanted to sit down.

He nodded.

After giving me a visual look-over, he began. "Connie _seyz_ you want to be a bounty hunter." His accent was Latino-street. I suspected it was an old accent. The Army would have polished his speech.

I chewed my bottom lip showing indecision, "Yeah."

"Why?"

"See that Buick? It is my grandmother's. I am back in town, living with my parents, which is fine when you are 16, but not 27. I have no job, and only place hiring is the sanitary-products factory. I'm not stuffing tampons into boxes."

"Why bounty hunting?"

"Vincent Plum is my cousin. When I went to apply for a job as a file clerk, he said it had been filled. I have enough information on his deviant lifestyle to blackmail him for a better job. I gave him an example."

"You black mailed Vinnie?"

Time to improvise, I tipped my head and smiled, but said nothing.

Ranger kept his granite face but felt a wiggle between his legs. Ms. Plum had a lovely smile and those cobalt blue eyes were mesmerizing. Well, Ms. Plum is not a complete idiot, he thought. She did use cunning to get a job. "What work did you do?"

I had anticipated this question as I sure could not tell him most was classified. "I have been doing odd jobs here and there, plus a failed engagement. Thankfully we never made it to the altar."

"Why are you here in Trenton?"

"Family. I am from the Burg." I was closing down that line quickly. "Vinnie said I needed a few tips before I could begin. Connie said, you were the best bounty hunter in the city."

"Babe, there is you and me. I'm the best, and you never will be."

"But I might be someday," I said with a hint of a whine. Gads, I hate playing games.

"If you survive. The weapon on my hip isn't for show, Babe. In a split second, you might have to kill or be killed. Have you had any self-defense training?"

I had noted the Glock on his hip when I leaned over to shake hands. He was being dramatic and probably as much into role-playing as was I. How to play this? I couldn't tell him the truth. I looked down, "Some. I took women's defense in college."

"You ain't goin' to be fending off drunken frat boys, Babe. You are going after felons, gang bangers, and other scum who are going to look at you as fresh meat. They won't be cooperative, in fact they will try to kill you and in your case, probably rape you first."

Ranger was trying to scare me off. I just stared at him, showing no emotion. He was confused. Was I that stupid I didn't understand? Silence stretched for several minutes, I just looked at his face, saying nothing. Finally he spoke, "Has Vinnie given you a case?"

I nodded, "Joe Morelli."

Ranger muttered under his breath in Spanish. I pretended I didn't understand. Judging from Ranger's rant, he had the same opinion of Vinnie as I.

"Joe Morelli is a cop. Detective Morelli offed Ziggy Kuleza. The gun was a 9 mm with hydro-shok ammunition. Do you know what such ammunition can do?"

Of course, I knew, but I played dumb and shook my head no. Why did Joe use a 9 mm? His hands were large and I remembered from Tasty Pastry, especially his fingers. If he is still that macho bastard, he would want the biggest weapon. Maybe the police department preferred their shooting victims not be in pieces.

"The entry hole isn't too bad, but the bullet is designed for maximum internal damage. It exits the body leaving a potato size hole. Ziggy's head probably exploded."

I wanted to ask Russet potato or wax potato to confuse him, but he's probably think I was not serious and leave. I held my tongue. Instead, I grimaced as he expected. He waited for another reaction, but I held my ground.

Ranger continued, "Neighbors heard the shot, called the police, and subdued Morelli by hitting him with a six-pack of beer. The nosy neighbors only saw Morelli and Ziggy. The problem was, no other gun was found, just Joe's."

"Can or bottle. Six-packs vary in weight."

"Babe?"

Good, I confused him a bit with the stupid question. "The weight difference would be a factor in the damage done to Morelli and how long he would have been rendered unconscious."

"How is that relevant?"

"If Joe was just stunned, confusion would have been high. I imagine there was a lot yelling. A second person could have escaped. If Joe was out longer, the nosy neighbors might have been more observant."

Ranger looked unconvinced.

I tried again, "So either Joe shot an unarmed man, or Ziggy had a gun, and now it's missing."

"The neighbors swore they never entered Carmen's apartment. The only gun found was the one in Joe's hand."

"Where did this occur?" I asked. Time to zero in on information.

Ranger looked at me. First I asked in irrelevant question and follow up immediately with something intelligent. I'd have to throw in another stupid zinger shortly. He answered, "The apartment belonging to Carmen Sanchez, supposedly one of Morelli's snitches."

"What did Carmen say?"

"Nothing. She is missing."

"Ziggy's body was in Carmen's apartment?"

"Yes."

"Who let him in? Why was he there? And what is a Ziggy?"

Ranger was still confused. This bit of fluff was hitting all the marks with her questions. Her thinking might get off track once in a while, but there's hope she could learn. "Ziggy works for Benito Ramirez, a heavyweight champion boxer and his manager Jimmy Alpha. Benito is a Trenton resident who made good. Ziggy was one of Benito's sparring companions. Before that, he was a so-so heavyweight fighter."

"How did he know Carmen?"

"Ziggy is also a small-time pimp. Carmen was one of his girls."

"Was Joe there for a booty call?"

"Maybe."

"So if Ziggy worked with Ramirez, I need to talk to Ramirez, right?" A quick retreat from staying with the story. I feigned getting sidetracked.

"Don't. Ramirez is a real animal, not just in the ring. He's probably unhinged."

"Too many hits to the head?" I surmised. "Are you saying he can't carry on a conversation?"

"No, he is a psychotic predator. Word is any woman who comes near him ends up dead." He let that sink into my head, then continued, "Answer me one thing, Babe, why did Vinnie give you this case and not something easier?"

What's with this Babe stuff? What a condescending jerk. I shrugged it off. "Vinnie's regular man is in the hospital with a ruptured appendix."

"Morty Beyers."

"Right. Vinnie said you wouldn't take the case. He's desperate to get Joe back in jail."

"Joe is a cop. He knows the streets, knows how to hide and move without being seen. You must have serious blackmailing material that Vinnie would risk you getting killed. "

"Why would Joe kill me?"

"I think Ramirez would kill you for sport just showing up around him. As for Morelli, he's a cop and desperate. But there's a third consideration. Someone has put a hit out on Joe, and you will be in the way."

"A hit on Joe?" I blinked a few times, pretending confusion.

"Joe was not investigating prostitution. It's not worth the effort. He's more interested in drugs, especially heroin. Too much has been showing up in Trenton. Carmen might have had information, and somebody took exception to her talking with Morelli. Somebody probably set up Morelli."

This is what Connie told me. "So, I find who set him up."

"Wrong," Ranger said flatly. "As a bounty hunter, your only concern is Morelli. Getting too nosy will get you dead."

I knew from experience I needed to full picture. Where was Carmen? Probably dead. Who was setting up Joe? Who was running the heroin? "What are the rules about bounty hunting? What can I expect?"

"You bring your fugitive back in any way you can. They are desperate and will do anything, including killing you, to keep from going back to jail."

He was trying to intimidate me. I gave Ranger my best glare. "Ranger, you've never met my mother. I am more desperate to get out of her house and making it on my own again. Right now, $10,000 would give me a chance to get a small apartment and maybe a junkyard wanna-be car. Either you help me, or I'm going to give it a go by myself."

Ranger sat back and stared at me. I didn't know how intense my return stare should be. I had perfected a granite face back in high school and honed it in the Marines. Here I needed to be a bit softer, but not so much as to be seen as weak. I saw his answer before he said anything. He had a tell, ever so slight. Those luscious brown eyes flecked with gold, dilated ever so slightly. "Against my better judgment, I'll be your Harry Higgins to your Eliza Doolittle."

"I already know how to sing: _La lluvia en España cae principalmente en la llanura,_" I sang quietly. (The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain)

That earned me his death stare. I wanted to laugh or at least crack a smile. It was precisely the stare I had perfected on people I was interrogating.

"I will mentor you," he said, barely moving his lips.

"When do we start?"

"Right now. Do you have a weapon?"

"Unless a wicked knee to the groin counts, no," I said without emotion. I could tell he was unimpressed.

"We'll go to Sunny's."

"He sounds like a mob boss." I knew otherwise. It was where Dad and I spent our Saturdays practicing our shooting skills.

"It is spelled with a U, not an O."

It had been a few years since I was in Sunny's, but nothing had changed except for the prices quoted on the signboard out front. Yipes!

"Have you ever fired a weapon?" Ranger probably assumed I would say no, and I considered it.

"I went hunting with my father years ago."

"What type of rifle?"

"Archery first, then a shotgun." I didn't mention the handgun and rifle training Dad gave me once he learned I had enlisted.

He huffed out what probably passed for a laugh, "Not much call for Robin Hood bounty hunters. As for shotguns, they don't always stop an FTA."

"No, but they stop ducks and small deer," I responded.

"FTA's don't fly, Babe."

"Bucks can get to 200 pounds," I responded.

"I weigh more than 200 pounds," he replied.

If he had normal muscle and fat ratio, he would be about 180 pounds, but judging from the strain on his shirt and the tight waist, he's probably around 10% body fat and heavy in muscle mass. Yeah, he would be more than 200 pounds.

"Maybe it wouldn't bring you down, but buck shot in the ass might caused even your hard ass to hurt."

Ranger didn't break stride, but I did see a hint of a smile on his face.

Ranger was smiling internally. This curly-haired beauty had spunk. Maybe she could be a bounty hunter, but not against Morelli. He would need to give her more instruction.

I followed him to Sunny's Gunshop, feigning hesitancy. I had to perfect the wide-eyed woman routine. When we came through the door, Sunny looked at Ranger and nodded and then looked at me with a raised eyebrow. She was trying to remember who I was. I discretely shook my head, no hoping she'd understand not to say anything.

Ranger went straight to the glass case and selected a .38 revolver, 6 shot, 2" barrel. He didn't have much faith in my strength and shooting ability.

"Don't I need something with more bullets?" Saying bullets instead of cartridges or ammunition was a newbie mistake. I'm sure he caught it.

"One will do the job. You should not find yourself in a combat situation."

I've been there too. I didn't go in with a pathetic 6 shot Colt. I went in with two .45mm handguns, several loaded magazines, and an M4, which was later upgraded to an M27.

After looking at another handgun under the counter, Ranger asked Sunny if we could try both weapons at the range. Sunny, a bleach blonde woman about 60 years old and a 45-year smoking habit nodded and took down a box of .38 cartridges for the Colt and .45 rounds for a new Taurus Ranger was looking at. Internally I shook my head, not a good choice. I had tested the weapon four months ago.

As Sunny set the ammunition boxes on the glass display shelf, she tried not to look at me. When Ranger started back to the range, I winked at Sunny and silently mouthed, "Thank you."

Once at the range, Ranger carefully explained how to load the handgun. I listened, pretending trepidation as I sucked my lower lip and nodded.

"Now, you load it."

I fumbled the ammunition nearly dropping everything, but he did not offer to help. Once loaded, I looked up for more instruction.

"Remember to keep your index finger off the trigger until you are ready to pull it."

I hesitated and raised the handgun. "I thought it would be heavier."

"It weighs just over a pound empty. It's the ammunition that gives it weight."

I smiled to myself, especially .50 calibers. I picked up the weapon feigning uncertainty."Is there a safety?"

"No. Like a shotgun, you have to cock it. Always keep the barrel pointed down range to a safe location. It is a single action. You have to pull back the hammer each time to fire."

I got a concerned look on my face. "That could take time and ruin my aim."

"Only takes one if you hit your target, Babe."

I set my stance, raised my weapon slowly with one hand, and was turned sideways like the way most of the movie cowboys shoot. It was a common newbie mistake. Control with one hand, especially for women, was weak. Second, presenting your side to your enemy with your arm raised, leaving your side open. One bullet could slam into the thinner side muscle, through your lungs and heart. Instant kill or bleed out in a minute.

"Use two hands, Annie Oakley, and face the target. Here, let me show you," he said with exasperation.

Ranger put his arms around me and stepped closer. His aftershave or cologne was not a dime-store issue. I reminded me of the scents sold in obscenely priced malls in Dubai. "Arms out straight and relax the rest of your body. Control your breathing, Babe."

That was going to be difficult. His closeness was having a profound effect on me. He was not a weapon's instructor barking "recruit" in my ear, nor was this my father and his loving touch. This was a fine specimen of a man. His arms were muscled and showed the tendons as he rotated his hand. His broad chest was rock hard, no stomach protruding. I'd sure like to see him with a shirt. Down Marine!

Ranger was surprised at the woman's harness. He expected soft body, but the sweater under the jacket gave her bulks that really wasn't there. Her face was chiseled. He thought she was malnourished. He suspected she was buffed.

After checking my hearing and eye protection, Ranger stepped back and tapped my shoulder once. I pulled the trigger. The kickback was minimal. I purposely put the shot into the target's leg. To play my part, I did a little jig and dropped my arms. He stepped forward and reset me. "Concentrate." Yeah, right, those arms, that chest, that lovely mocha latte skin...Marine, at ease! I put the second shot on the other side in the ear. Targetman was going to be pissed. Huffing trying to show Ranger I was upset I missed hitting the body, I reset and put the next in the head and the remaining three somewhere on the torso with one at the bottom of the trunk between the legs. "Ooops," I blushed. It was all fake. I had earned an excellent marksmanship/sharpshooter medal in training.

Keeping my weapon pointed down range and waited until he tapped me on the shoulder. After removing one ear protector, he said, "It is obvious you have experience. You improved with each shot. Do it again. This time, clear the cylinders and reload."

From then on, I kept all shots in the center mass, even putting a few in the center circle. While I emptied my cartridge box, he shot with the Taurus. I couldn't help but note the pattern wasn't clean. He quickly pulled out his Glock and put seven in the center, creating a very tiny hole. No Taurus sales today. Once he settled down again, he looked at my target's pattern. "You'll do. With the next session, I suspect you'll find the center all the time."

I scowled, but before I could come up with a natty comment, he was moving towards the door. "Sweep the brass," he called over his shoulder.

I looked around for the range master and pointed to the shells. He pointed to a broom and dustpan next to a 55-gallon drum. The brass goes in there.

When I returned to the shop, Ranger was finishing the transaction for the Colt handgun, not the Taurus. "I assume you don't have a permit, so I'll buy this. You fill out an ownership form so the weapon can be transferred to you, later. When the permits clear, come back, and Sunny will have the handgun and show you about how to clean it."

"How long will the permit take?" I asked.

Sunny was about to say I had an ownership permit already, but stopped. "About five days." (A/N fiction, remember)

"I'll need some protection before then," I acted worried.

Ranger answered, "Pepper spray and stun gun. Do you have money to get them."

"Yeah, I can cover them."

"I have to go. I have another appointment. In the meantime took over the file and think about how you will capture your FTA. We'll meet again tomorrow at the diner. How about 09:00?"

I hesitated as if I didn't understand.

"That's 9 am, Babe."

"Yeah, that should be fine."

After he left the shop, Sunny looked at me, "Your Frank Plum's Marine daughter."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You and your father came in often. Are you running a scam on Ranger?"

"I can't let him know I'm a Marine, at least not yet. Thank you for not spilling the beans."

She laughed a smoker's laugh, "He's pretty intense, but he brings a lot of business here. Don't piss him off. When you can tell me what's going on, it sounds interesting."

"I'll tell you when the permit clears." I bought pepper spray, a stun weapon, and looked at the batons. A baseball bat would be better and easier to explain. After leaving Sunny's, I went to a sports store to get a baseball bat and balls, plus a glove. I scuffed the balls a bit to make them appear used. I bought a carry case for my sports equipment. If stopped, a cop will ignore a baseball bat but would question a baton or knife. In Russia, the bat is the primary civilian assault weapon. Nothing like bashing up another guy's car or the driver when cut you off in traffic. When alone, I sat down and read through Morelli's file noting his address.

When I finished, I called my cousin by marriage, Eddie Gazarra. He grew up in a house three from my parents. He became a cop straight out of high school. He worked evenings and weekends, getting an associated criminal justice degree at the local community college before marrying my cousin, Shirley. I often thought Eddie and I might get married, but after Dickie, I wanted nothing to do with holy matrimony.

"Hey, Stephanie. I've heard rumors you are in town." His voice was still full of Jersey.

"Eddie, can you meet me somewhere. I have several questions." It was a bit brief, I almost apologized.

"About?"

"I'd rather not say right now."

"That sounds intriguing. I'm getting off work in two hours. How about Pino's?"

Pino's, the Burg's family Italian restaurant owned by a Greek. The cross-culture added a little spice to the red sauce that makes it unique to Burg cuisine. I was still in my ill-fitting suit and heels, but pulled my hair down. My mother never allowed me to wear my hair free flowing saying it always looked like a rat's nest. Often it did. Several clients looked at me, uncertain if they had seen me before. I snagged a back booth. I was hot and removed my jacket, revealing my enhanced shoulders. Eddie came in and looked around. I waved.

"Stephanie! It's been a while. He leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"Eddie, how's Shirley?" Shirley was my second cousin, one of the Plum horde born within ten years.

"She's good. We have three kids, all boys."

"I'm sure your parents are proud."

"Dad died two years ago, heart attack. Mom moved to Belhaven, a senior apartment complex in Hamilton."

"Sorry about your father. How could your mother leave the Burg?"

"With a big smile on her face. She never bought into the Burg aura."

I was surprised. Mrs. G. always seemed to main-stream Burg, but thinking back perhaps she was more mellow. Then again, Captain Ahab was more mellow than my mother. "Can I get you something?" I said as I spied the waitress coming over. I looked at her carefully. No, I don't think I knew her in school.

"Beer for me."

I ordered a roasted chicken breast salad for myself along with water. The more I could eat away from the house, the happier my stomach would be. I looked at Eddie, he had gained a few pounds, probably doughnuts, and pasta. He still had the hazel eyes that twinkled mirth. I wondered how he kept them with what he sees each day.

Eddie started the conversation. "I heard you went to the Army. You have lost weight and muscled up. You look great."

"I'd show you my _Marine_ sculpted six-pack abs, but we know about Pino's and gossip. Shirley would hear about it instantly."

"Marines?! Why the tough route?"

"Maybe it was penance for my trying and failing to be a Burg woman. Or maybe I was seeking atonement for Morelli and the Buick."

He chuckled a bit. "He deserved it. Steph, I had a crush on you since fourth grade. You were so different and so much fun. Then you went off to college and disappeared."

I looked at him, wondering if he had forgotten all that I had to endure. He knew about the harassment, the gossip, the "tsk-tsks."

"Thank you, Eddie. You always stood for me. You were my best buddy outside of Mary Lou."

He reached over and grabbed my hand in support. "I assume you came for Angela's wedding."

I gently removed my had from under his. I was not going to be the source for Gazarra marriage gossip. "My father asked me specifically to come. It worked out well as I'm transferring to Virginia from overseas. I figured I could tolerate Trenton and my family for a few days. Speaking of which, I didn't see you at the celebration."

"I had to work, and Shirley couldn't find a babysitter. Do you miss the Burg?"

"No, just my father. I come back every year for deer hunting season. We meet elsewhere, never Trenton."

"What do you do with the Marines? Or can't you tell me?"

"Since you are a cop and I hope you can keep your mouth shut, I work in intelligence."

"Wow! Stephanie Plum, secret agent."

"No, that's CIA, NSA, and a few you've probably never heard of."

"Have you been anyplace exciting?"

I chuckled, "We don't have a base in Paris or Fiji, but I'll suggest it. Mostly Okinawa, Afghanistan, Iraq, and around the '50s. Oh, and a real paradise, Djibouti. Ever heard of it?"

"The Horn of Africa, the Gulf of Aden, right?"

I nodded. Most people have never heard of Djibouti, and when told it is next to Eritrea, they really get confused.

"Do you like serving?"

"I'm coming up to the end of my contract. I don't know if I want to stay in or get out. The problem is the civilian version is one of those alphabet agencies. If I go civilian, I'll have to start a new wardrobe. I'm really into less is more right now."

Eddy chuckled, "No, you aren't a Jersey Girl any longer. You've even lost your accent. Now, how can I help you?"

"Tell me about Joe Morelli's case."

His eyebrows rose quickly and then settled into a scowl. The cop took over into a blank face. "Why?"

"My stupid cousin Vinny is carrying the bond and has asked for my help bringing Joe back in. The usual bounty hunter is out on sick leave."

"Morty Beyers. There's Ranger..."

"He's already turned it down," I added quickly.

Nodding, Eddie continued, "Yeah, Ranger is smart. He's fairly new to the city, hoping to start a security company. To raise money, he and a couple of friends are doing bond retrievals. The chief thinks the world of him, but fellow cops aren't sure. Morelli is especially leery."

"Why?"

"Joe is said to have the best ass in Trenton. Some say Ranger's is better, not that I look, mind you."

"Vanity?"

"Morelli is all about vanity just as he was in school. Now that he has made detective, he struts around like a rooster in a hen house."

I wanted to shiver in disgust. "Yeah, and no doubt still nailing the hens."

Eddie smiled acknowledging my surmise, but said nothing. "Are you trying to settle a score with Morelli?"

"Maybe, probably, yes. Joe abused and then humiliated me, making high school a nightmare. What relationship I had with my mother died with Tasty Pastry."

"You think you can get Morelli?"

Lowering my voice, I said, "It's what I do, Eddie. I get the info. As for capture, I must leave that for Morty Beyers if he gets back soon. Or if Vinnis is desperate, he will have to up the payment percentage and let Ranger do it. Legally I can't be prancing around as a bounty hunter."

Eddie paused, "I'm not at liberty to talk about the case. But since you won't be going after him, only gathering information, you asked nicely, plus I suspect you could beat the crap out of me these days, I'll share. You know Joe was in Vice, right?"

I nodded.

"Carmen was one of Joe's informants. Why Ziggy was in the apartment is unknown. There was no sign of Carmen and hasn't been. Ziggy is a low-level hood, long rap sheet, but nothing extensive. He was once a boxer but never amounted to much. Now he's Benito Ramirez's sparring partner. One of many as Benito can get a bit out of hand from time to time."

"Ziggy was Carmen's pimp, according to Ranger," I shared.

"That's something we didn't know. It must have been recent." I could tell Eddie would pass on the information.

"Was Ziggy part of Ramirez's entourage?"

Eddie huffed, "Ramirez doesn't have an entourage, except for window dressing before fights. He's pretty much a loner except for his manager, Jimmy Alpha."

"Who is his trainer?"

"Jack Greene with an "e" at the end. He trains at the Gold Gloves gym on Stark. Jack is divorced, pays child support, and trains three other fighters in his stable. He suffers no-nonsense from Benito. Alpha knows if Benito goes ape shit, Greene walks. Word is Alpha is already on shaky financial legs with Ramirez. Apparently the big guy slips off to Atlantic City, gambles and tears up hotel rooms. Prostitutes pretty much leave town when Benito shows up."

"Sounds like Alpha controls his boy."

Eddie nodded, "He tries."

"Tell me more about Ramirez."

"He's an absolute animal in the ring and word is, outside as well. All his wins are through KOs or TKOs. Early on in his career, he killed a man in the ring."

"The reason the prostitutes disappear is Ramirez."

"Nobody talks about it. The girls on the street are afraid. Benito is the brightest thing to happen to Trenton in years. So the public looks away from his peculiarities."

"Has he always been fighting in Trenton?"

"No, he came here from somewhere in the Caribbean. He fought there for about four years before Jimmy Alpha found him and brought him to Trenton. That was five years ago."

"Joe was looking into something vice-related other than the girls on Stark. Who is running the drugs?"

Eddie stared at me.

"Eddie, the mob usually has its hands into everything illegal. Now they compete with various other ethnic and racial gangs. Joe had an in with Vito's niece, Terrance. I assume he has already checked the mob. So more likely it's a different group that would be in Carmen's solar system. Perhaps she was going to tell Joe where to look."

"Maybe."

"Ok, let's back up. What unusual drug activity has crept up?"

"Heroin."

"Yeah, I hear more is coming from Mexico now than Afghanistan."

"We've been getting far too much lately. We think Trenton is a beginning point for a conduit to the north and west."

"Why, Trenton? Why not someplace larger?"

"We are a smaller city and have water access. It's coming in here since the bigger cities have a bigger DEA and Homeland presence. The ports also have the Coast Guard."

"How much are we talking?"

"Our largest catch was 10 kilos. Normally we find serving portions. Now that we are finding bricks, we know more is moving through."

"Why isn't DEA here?"

"They are just getting started."

"I've been away for five years. What is the business climate like?"

"I don't follow."

"If you are finding shipping bundles, not use bundles, then yes, this is a transmission point. So do you have one mule moving, say 50 kilos, or do you have several mules? The more you are moving, the easier it is to get discovered."

"Yeah, you've done this before," Eddie said as he sat back and finished his beer.

"Any new companies move into town that might do shipping to other cities?"

"I don't follow."

OK, I've gotten into minimal speak since I left Trenton. I need to be more verbose. "Eddie, is there anything manufactured here and shipped in quantity. In particular are thee any companies shopping large items or quantities where drugs could be hidden."

"You mean like the old Roebling Company?"

"Exactly."

"There's nothing that large. We have many small manufacturing companies like compressors, air filtration devices, transformers. A surprising number of plastic related items ranging from blister packaging to artificial turf come from here. There is still a mill making cloth, towels mostly. Then, of course, we have the stockyard."

"What about food or wine/beer importers? In particular, container products?"

"No, food and beverage go through New York, Newark, or Philly. We don't have a soda manufacturer anymore. We have a few independent food companies, but they distribute mostly locally."

"So let me get it straight, Trenton is the overland starting point, not just a station on the pipeline."

"That's what we are hearing."

"And the stuff is coming in via the water, not trucking companies across the bridge."

"That's the thinking right now."

"It's probably coming upriver as barges would be up north on the coast."

"Yeah, that's my thinking but I'm not a detective. How long can you work on this?"

"I have a 7-10 day window until Morty Beyers comes back from a ruptured appendix."

"Think you can do it?"

"I'll fill out Morty's file for him. Besides, this will keep me out of my mother's sight, She barely talks to me. Grandma keeps asking me if I am a lesbian."

Eddie chuckled but looked up.

"While there are thousands of very fine-looking men in the Marines, I can't date above or below my rank. It limits the pool, but trust me, there is still plenty of fish in the ocean," I winked. "I don't want to get married, at least not in the foreseeable future, and I surely don't want children. So I'm socially playing the field."


	4. Chapter 4 In Search of Morelli

Hey, I'm backed up a deadline on something else but I wanted to get this to you now. Otherwise it would be delayed four or five days. Read with soft eyes, I'm certain there are booboos. Thanks to all who are guiding my efforts, questioning motives. You are sharpening my thinking.

**Chapter 4: In Search of Morelli**

I muscled Big Blue away from the curb near Pino's. Mentally I compared the meetings today with Ranger and Eddie. Ranger Manoso was Army. It shone through from the digital camo pants to the stone cold stare. He was not as relaxed as someone who was no longer in service. There was a edge to him that made me wonder just when he left service, or has he? How would he have reacted if he knew I was a Marine still in service? For sure he'd call me to the carpet for meddling in civilian affairs. "Marine, have you cleared this with your CO?" Would he have reported me? He seems to be enough of a hard ass to do so.

Eddie was a friend who knew me years ago and never said anything derogatory to me. He was not put off by me being a Marine. Why was I portraying a Burg woman in a skirt and heels? Maybe it wasn't to distract Ranger, but for the Burg's grapevine and the invisible tendrils. I wasn't ready to stand on the corner of Chestnut and Hamilton and sing the "From the halls of Montezuma..." I had to remain as incognito as possible to get the info on Morelli. Was it much different than the distractions I've done? I haven't always worn a uniform and been accompanied by armed soldiers. I've dressed civilian, even tribal, to do my information-seeking work. I chuckled thinking about Burg tribal garb and the way women walked around town. They moseyed, they teetered on too high heels, none walked strongly or precisely. Marching around ramrod straight would scare off any potential Burg information sources. The Burg would snap shut with the first hint I was something other than Helen's Plum's sad excuse for a daughter. I wondered when I would have my coming out party.

Big Blue took me to Morelli's apartment. It was outside the Burg but close enough to smell the red gravy from the many Italian Burg homes. Trying to hide the blue behemoth took a little finagling. I had to find myself the oldest cars to blend with. Who was I kidding, there's no way a 1980's Monte Carlo would camouflage Big Blue. I was not on Joe's apartment parking lot, cars there were newer and cleaner. I sat in the back of a nearby parking lot watching the apartment, flipping through Vinnie's file, not really expecting him to show up. Maybe I would see someone else who would give me another clue to the puzzle. While I watched and waited, I thought. The whole deal, Joe shooting an unarmed man did not ring true. Joe was a cop, granted an SOB, but still a detective. He went through the police academy, served on the street for five years. With any signs of being trigger happy or unstable, he would not have made detective.

If Joe was confronted by a gun carrying Ziggy and now the gun was gone, somebody else was in the apartment at the time of the shooting and the nosy neighbors were not reliable witnesses. Maybe the apartment dwellers were protecting themselves. Did someone warn them to deny seeing anyone? Like an onion, there were more and more layers to peel back. Gads, did I really want to get into this case? No. I'm coming in prejudiced against Morelli. I have no business even looking at this file, let alone doing the snooping.

Just as I was about to fire up Big Blue and return the file to the bonds office, I saw a Morelli. It wasn't Joe, it was Michael (Mooch) Morelli, all 5'10", 300 pizza and beer enriched pounds. He entered Joe's apartment and after a few minutes, returned with a filled duffle bag. Joe needed clean clothes. My plans to pull out of the case were set back. I was curious where Mooch was taking the duffle.

Mooch broke the first rule of being invisible with his big, over-sized, bright-colored pickup I would have to be blind not to easily follow. The idiot should be driving a nice small SUV, neutral color like white or silver. I should talk, I am in a 53 Buick, so much for covert tails. I watched Mooch drop off the clothing bag and drive away. The building was an abandoned manufacturing building just off Stark Street. I had Joe's lair. I could, and should, call in Ranger for backup, but my sense of right and wrong was getting in the way. Joe may be innocent and I would feel remorse if I didn't attempt to clear him. Nobody said it had to be a great attempt, but I needed to try to remain honest with myself. So I was breaking Ranger's first rule of bounty hunting, I was sticking my nose beyond the FTA. Second, I was probably screwing myself with the Marines.

Knowing the Burg's propensity for gossip, I returned to Connie to learn about the case. She was preparing to close the office to run to the courthouse to bond out someone else. She sat back down at her desk, a bit miffed at me. "If Carmen was a snitch for Joe. It makes no sense for Joe to kill her unless she was a snitch for someone else too. Playing both sides might work if you are incredibly smart and Carmen wasn't. You need to hook up with the Stark Street grapevine, the working girls on the street. They know everything and everyone." Great, there was the Burg grapevine and a Stark Street grapevine?

I knew the working girls on Stark didn't work mornings, so I had to talk to them before the 09:00 meeting with Ranger tomorrow. That's how I found myself cruising Stark Street in Big Blue in the late afternoon before the mandatory 6 pm Plum dinner. I stopped and talked with several streetwalkers. They were hesitant to talk to a strange, white woman. One, named Lula, opened up a bit more than the others, "White girl, yo best get back in that old car of yours and leave quick. Ziggy was a good pimp, he kept us safe from Benito. Now he'z gone, it ain't safe for nobody especially a pretty thing like you."

When I asked about availability of heroin, Lula squinted like she was questioning why I was asking about smack. Was I a narc? "It's around, but it ain't no cheaper now that before. If a bunch is coming in, it ain't reflected in the prices. Personally I don't do that shit, but lotsa folks here duz. If youz looking into that, it's a fast way to be dead. That's all I'm gonna say." Lula had a basic grasp of economics' supply and demand.

I made it home for the 6 pm dinner, barely. I think Mom was hoping I'd be late so she'd have something to harp about. That night at the dinner table, my father asked me what I did all day. It was all I could do not to break out laughing by saying, "Cruising Stark Street talking with prostitutes." Instead I mentioned I was driving around town, revisiting old haunts, seeing people I knew in school.

My mother jumped in, "You should see Mary Lou. She's married to Lenny the plumber and they have several children and another on the way. Or maybe you need to go to Clip and Curl and get a manicure, even artificial nails, and hair cut. Your hands and hair need work."

Before I could respond, Dad cut in, "For heavens sake, Helen, can it. She's a Marine, not a housewife. She has her choice of wearing her hair long enough to keep in a bun or cut it short like a man's. As for her hands, she's been in Iraq and Afghanistan, not exactly centers of onychology."

I was shocked my father even knew the term onychology. It was obvious my mother didn't when she said, "What?"

"It is the term for someone who specializes in fingernail care," he responded as he returned to his mashed potatoes.

Later that night while Mom and Grandma Mazur washed the dishes, I told my father about my day. He nodded as he listened, thought a minute and said, "I'm not going to tell you what you are doing risks your position as a Marine. While I applaud your sense of right and wrong, even when applied to Joseph Morelli, all I ask is you be careful. Bullets fly around Start Street as they do in the Middle East. But we probably have fewer IED's." He winked.

"Lord, I hope so," I responded.

The next morning I was back at the diner. Ranger was digging through a grapefruit half. I was spreading cottage cheese in a toasted whole wheat bagel. I missed the fresh fruit, I should have ordered the grapefruit.

"So what did you learn?" he asked as he dug out another fruit section.

"I went to Joe's apartment and followed Mooch Morelli to Joe's new lair."

He looked up, expecting me to continue. "You are supposed to bring him in when you find him."

"Yeah, right, Joe, please come with me because years ago you..." I stopped surprised I had begun to reveal my secret. Maybe I was distracted by the grapefruit. When was the last time I had that fruit?

"Because years ago...what?" He had stopped eating and zeroing in with those lovely brown eyes.

Shrugging, I said, "Guess you don't visit Burg restrooms. I understand Joe was once pretty good at cupcake poetry."

He searched his mind. A light of recognition flashed. "You are Cupcake?"

"Yep. Apparently new paint isn't high on men's room decor."

"Is that why you left town?"

"One of many. Burg memories are long. After college at Douglass, I kept going."

He stared at me. "If this is personal between you and Joe, I'm gone. There is no room for emotions with skip chasing."

Shit, I knew I overstepped. Was this a vendetta between Joe and me? Yeah, in part. But this was also what I did with the Marines. Right now, I needed Ranger on my side to guide me through the civil legalities. We did things a bit different in the military in war zones or _special interest__._ "I talked to Eddie Gazarra, the cop, and learned more about the heroin coming into the area and discussed possible ways it could be moved on."

"Not your concern," he said as he popped another grapefruit section into his mouth.

I chose to ignore his comment and continue, "Eddie said DEA was coming on board. They don't know Trenton, it will take time to get up and running. Plus, they are constricted by regulations. I'm hoping bounty hunting is a bit more lenient, and I can use it to follow up on ideas. Now I'd like my first lesson in bounty hunting. How to break into Joe's apartment. Maybe there's something that will give me a new clue." I hope I sidestepped his question.

"DEA will be upset you are messing with their case."

"I'm not messing. I'm trying to determine the players because who they are, Morelli will be nearby."

I could tell he didn't buy that line. Yeah, it was a matter of semantics. I was meddling and potentially getting in the way. Not being a bona fide bounty hunter, I shouldn't be anywhere near this case.

"What would you expect to find?" He was testing me realizing I wasn't backing down.

"Obviously, not him sleeping these unless he needed to shower and fell asleep. Maybe he left a pad with telephone numbers etched into the lower sheets, an answering machine, receipts for another apartment, something."

Ranger agreed. I followed him over to Joe's. "Go ask the complex manager for the key."

"What, no lock picking? I thought all sleuths eschewed keys in favor of picking locks."

He gave me a blank stare. Note to self, Ranger has no sense of humor. I'll have to find another way to crack the granite.

I went to the building manager and returned with the key. "I told him I left my underwear in there."

Ranger nodded approval, but still no smile. Hell, he's probably gay. Wait, what the heck am I thinking about sex again? There is something drawing me to him. It's probably his body scent. Yeah, a guy that smells this good is probably gay. At ease, Marine.

We found nothing in the apartment, no date books, not scraps of paper, no case files, no underwear or socks. The only thing in the refrigerator was a six-pack. Mooch might be back to grab it. After returning the key to the manager, I realized I was hungry. The bagel and cottage cheese didn't hold. Geez, if I spend too much time in the Burg, I'm going to be roly-poly again. I returned to the diner downtown and was chowing down on a chef's salad, low on vegetables, high on meat, when I felt a tingle in my neck. I'd had been feeling it every time I met Ranger. I looked up and saw him walking towards me. How the heck did he find me? Does he have a tracker on Big Blue? Tossing a set of keys and fob onto the table he said, "You need a less obvious car than the Buick. I've got a guy out front who will take your car wherever you want it. Use the Jeep."

Before I could guard my words, I said, "Is that an order, sir." To quickly cover my error, I tilted my head and smiled.

"Where do you want your grandmother's Buick taken?" His lips thinned. I insulted him. I was going to argue, but realized he was right. Blue Blue might have passed unnoticed in the early 60's, but not now. I gave him my parent's address, "Here, let me give you the keys..."

"Babe," was all he said as he turned and walked out. OK, I knew from experience Big Blue was extremely easy to hot wire. Eddie and I figured that out years ago. Who ever would be driving him now would see our previous work.

I went back to Joe's lair and watched for a bit. It was stupid. He would be moving around during the dark hours, not in broad day light. So where would he be right now? He'd be digging around Ziggy's and Carmen's territory, Stark Street. Well, I was in a different vehicle, maybe I'll be less noticeable.

I saw Lula and pulled over. "You again, White Girl? I told ya I ain't got no more info on no smack. Why yo askin?"

"I'm trying to find Carmen."

"Drive away, now. I don't know why youz all nosy, but it ain't good for you health." Backing away from the car she said loudly, "I ain't doing that to you for twenty bucks. Go find yourself some cheap ho. I got standards." She was trying to provide us both cover. Smart woman.

I was on my way back to the Burg to stop and talk with Connie. At the corner of State and Hamilton, a man ran up and started pounding on the window. I reached for my weapon on my hip, but of course it wasn't there. Here, I'm an unarmed civilian, until I get the revolver from Sunny. The man beating on the glass was Joe Morelli. I grabbed the pepper spray and barely cracked the window.

When he realized who was sitting in the driver's seat, all he could say was, "Cupcake?!"

"Hey asshole, the name is Stephanie. I am not a god damn cupcake."

"What the hell are you doing with my Jeep?"

His Jeep! "This is yours?"

"Hell yes. I thought I saw it on Stark Street. Did you steal it from my apartment parking lot?"

Shit, Manoso stole Joe's Jeep. The bastard probably thinks it's funny. How do I explain this to Joe?

"I'm working for Vinnie."

"Vinnie stole my car?"

"Ah, I don't know where the car came from. But it doesn't matter, because you are going to jail big time, asshole. This is going to be a classic before you ever see it again."

"Who stole my car?"

I had forgotten about Italian anger, flying hands, and stomping feet. Joe added a beautiful red face to the show. "I needed wheels, and since you are on the lam..."

"I'm not going back until I know who set me up and prove my innocence."

"Not my problem, Morelli. Vinnie needs his money, and your mother needs her house. All I'm getting out of this is the chance nail your ass to a lamppost on Hamilton."

He was debating about reaching behind his back for his concealed carry, which his carrying in his current legal situation, is highly illegal, when I asked him, "By the way, how far are you on the heroin moving through town?"

"What the hell do you know?" he instantly quieted.

With that, the traffic light changed, and people began honking their horns. Trenton drivers, like most of New Jersey, have no patience. I flipped a single finger salute in my rear mirror and said, "A lot, Joe, but I gotta go. See you soon!"

"Otto," I heard him scream as I turned left onto Hamilton. Did Joe say auto or Otto? I didn't have a computer with search programs, so it was back to Connie, her laptop, and her terminal to the Burg grapevine. "How many Otto's in the Burg?"

"I have no clue, but I can run a search."

"Please. How long will it take?"

"I assume this is for Joe's case?"

"What else am I working on?"

"Normally, I'd charge you for the search, but we'll take it out of your earnings," she laughed. "As to how long, maybe 20 minutes."

"Is there a coffee shop nearby?"

"Yeah, next block. Bring me back a danish."

I walked down as I needed the exercise. Fortunately, the shop keepers were good about keeping their sidewalks ice-free. I ordered a small latte for myself. What the heck? I never order lattes. Was I subconsciously thinking about Ranger and his mocha-latte skin color? I downed the latte quickly, scowling at the milk, and picked out three danish. One for me, two for Connie. I didn't know if she liked cheese or blueberry. By the time I got back, she had a two-page list from the search. "I've highlighted one name, Otto Kuleski. Brother to the late Ziggy. So I ran Otto Kuleski. He's married to the butcher, Arnie Krauthammer's sister. Otto runs a meat byproduct recycling business."

"What's that?" I said between bites of mystery berry Danish.

"He goes around town collecting animal byproducts from butchers, grocery stores, restaurants, the stockyard and takes them to Newark to be cooked down and processed. He also gathers grease from restaurant traps for the same purpose. Don't ask what they make from the rendered fat."

I pretty much knew which is why I never ate food made with lard. My refried beans were always vegan, or I'd substitute whole beans. "Is Otto employed by a company?"

"No, independent."

"Do you know what he uses to haul his gleanings?"

"I have no clue."

"How many butcher shops in Trenton?"

Connie rolled her eyes telling me she was finished being my research assistant. Tossing me an outdated phone book, she said, "Help yourself, Steph."

I looked at the date of the book and back at her, saying nothing.

"Nothing changes here in the Burg. Only thing new is cell phones and those aren't in book form."

I apologized for asking too many questions. After all, I wasn't an employee, just someone helping a cousin. Looking through the listings, I found only a handful of dedicated meat markets but knew of a few more inside specialty stores like Giovinchinni's. Wonderful, days staking out butcher shops. "Another question, do you have an address for Otto Z?

Connie tapped her keyboard a few times and came up with an address. "This is probably his home address. I'm not finding anything for a business location."

"Any chance for a picture of Mr. Z?"

Connie scowled, "You are running up quite the search tab."

"Do you want me to go and buy lunch?"

She laughed, "Trying to negotiate? Yeah, I'd like a bucket and sides. By the way, where did you get the red Jeep?"

I smiled, "From an old friend. As for your order, that's a lot of meat. Are you sharing with me?"

"I'll share it a piece or two. I take the rest to my mother."

I nodded and left. While I drove over, I thought about what type of trucks Otto would use. I knew about the vacuum pump truck for grease traps. An animal hauler would be three tons or more, deep enough to hide the carcass and some type of lift device, and a cover for the smell. Butcher shop scraps were probably collected in a box truck to carry 55-gallon cans.

Once I had the Cluck in a Bucket order, I went back to the office. Connie dined on greasy chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, flavorless corn on the cob, and coleslaw. I ate a thigh and a bit of coleslaw. I was still hungry but didn't want any more fat. When we were finished, a picture of Otto Zuleski came through. It seems Otto had a DUI three years ago and got himself a mug shot.

First stop was Otto's house. It was no Burg duplex. It was in Hamilton Township on a three acres, plenty of lawn, tiny fruit trees, and enough room for a horse. Apparently lard paid well or Otto was into something else. I drove around Trenton, Ewing, and Hamilton locating the various butcher shops. I also kept an eye out for a grease vacuum pump truck. I didn't have much time to put into this. Not only did I have limited leave left, but Morty Beyers would likely come back to work soon. It was late afternoon when I drove back to my parent's house, parking Joe's Jeep a block away. I didn't need my nosy grandmother asking how I came about a new car. I would return the car to Joe's apartment in the morning.

Dinner was manicotti; of course, it was Tuesday. I mentally added up my meat and cheese calories at lunch and grease consumption with Connie's chicken and figured my gall bladder didn't need another fat overload. I would have eaten the salad, except there was none. To add to my artery-clogging dilemma, dessert was a German Chocolate cake. Once a favorite, my body rebelled now at such meals. The term roly-poly smashed back into my brain. I noticed my father hadn't eaten much either and wasn't surprised after dinner and the dishes were wisked away, he asked if I wanted to play poker at the lodge. We left the Burg and found a restaurant that served healthier meals. He had broiled fish, asparagus, and salad. I stuck with a plain dinner salad with dressing on the side. "How long have you been skipping out on Mom's meals?"

"Since my blood work came back with too much bad cholesterol and not enough good."

"Have you told Mom?"

"She doesn't care. She's not about to change her ways."

"Is there anything of hers you can eat?"

"Baked chicken, but the only fish she serves is tuna noodle casserole drenched in sour cream and cheese. I eat large healthy lunches to carry me over."

"In the Burg?" I gasped with humor.

"Pumpkin, my cab actually does venture outside the all-holy Burg."

I remembered the cheddar cheese in her tuna casserole. Who put cheese and fish together? "Is the stuffed cabbage still on the menu ?" I asked, shivering at the thought of slimy cabbage around a porcupine meatball and topped with tomato juice. The Greeks westward to the Persians had _dolmas_, rice, sometimes with meat inside grape leaves, but almost never covered with tomato juice.

"Yeah. I take off the cabbage and eat the stuffing. Since I can smell the darn stuff cooking, I make sure to eat a large apple before dinner for something healthy and filling."

After dinner, we went to his lodge. Apparently, Dad has been bragging about his Marine daughter, so I was the center of attention. I held my own through the poker game, neither winning or losing much. Never one to shy away from gaining information, I asked Leonard Busto owner of a local fish and chips eatery, who cleans the grease traps in his restaurant. OK, it was a strange question, and I had to fib a bit saying I went by a local restaurant, and it smelled like their trap was leaking.

"Otto Zuleski," he answered.

"Does he have his own company?"

"Yeah, Wizard of Oz, but he had to paint his truck logos over because of the taggers who took great delight in creating interesting poetry on the trucks about wizards and over the rainbow."

"Is he the local cleaner?"

"As much as Ziggy is local. He gets around often hauling dead horses from farms and ranches down on the peninsula. Why you thinking about going into the business?" he smiled.

"Nope, way too stinky for me, but maybe somebody else should come along if Otto is over-worked and help the restaurant out."

"Which one?"

Oh boy, I had to stretch here, "I was heading down Hamilton. I'm not sure of the name."

On the way home, Dad asked, "Nice fishing job. I'm not sure Leo bought the stinky grease trap, though."

"It goes back to the Joe Morelli case. He wanted to talk to his informant. She worked for or knew Ziggy Zuleski. Otto's is his brother. Ziggy was associated with Benito Ramirez, the boxer."

"Be careful, Pumpkin. The word is Ramirez is dangerous."

"I have no desire to meet the Champ. Just being anywhere near Stark makes me itchy. Anyway, I drove by Otto's house, it's not on Stark. It's a McMansion out beyond Hamilton Township. Fairly new judging from the tiny landscape plants. Otto is doing very well in hauling dead animals and parts. Maybe too well."

"And..." Dad indicated I needed to tie the ends.

"Heroin. It's coming into Trenton and being shipped elsewhere. Otto has trucks."

Dad listened and thought, "So do other businesses."

"Granted, the connection is weak; Ziggy-Carmen-Otto, but it's a start."

"So, you think Joe was looking into the heroin?"

If Dad thought the Ziggy-Carmen-Otto connection was weak, he'd rethink his daughter's reasoning skills with the next bit of information, "He gave me a clue when I ran into him."

He looked at me, "You ran into Joe? Does Big Blue have a dent?"

I started laughing and noticed he had a smirk on his face. "I wasn't lined up properly for a second shot. No, this was a sudden, brief encounter."

"And you didn't apprehend him?"

"You sound like Ranger," I huffed.

"Ranger, who?"

"Ranger, no last name, is a local bounty hunter Vinny thought I needed to talk to. He looks and moves like former military, maybe an Army Ranger."

"Why isn't he going after Joe?"

"He didn't say. He hinted it might be too dangerous as Joe has nothing to lose. Cops in jail have a hard time, so his life is worth little both inside as well as outside. Then again, maybe the money isn't worth the risk?"

"What about your risk?"

"I'm trying to keep that low. I don't expect to apprehend Joe, I'm just adding to Morty Beyers' file. Anyway, this keeps me away from Mom and her constant meddling about my work versus marriage and children. Gads, that's all she's ever talks about."

"Do you think you might marry someday?"

"That's the second time you've asked. Are you hinting you'd like grandchildren around? Why not go visit Valerie?"

"She who won't be named refuses to travel across the country. I think she's afraid to fly and I sure as hell don't want to drive across country with her. As for grandchildren, as nice as it would be to have them from you, I don't want your mother attempting to ruin another generation."

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"I have but to no avail. I don't want to start ranting like Anthony Morelli. It's easier just to ignore her."

-0-

When Daddy pulled into the driveway, a man started walking towards us. "Let me get it, Dad, my skills are newer. He slipped a knife into my hand. Maybe Dad could handle himself.

"Stephanie Plum?" The man asked.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Morty Beyers. I want my case back."

Wow, he was back earlier than I thought, though he was standing a bit crooked holding a pain grimace at bay. I thought about arguing with him but decided it wasn't worth it. This guy worked for Vinnie, and this is how he made his living. "I haven't had a chance to update the file today. I was going to do that after dinner."

"What were you going to add?"

"Otto Zuleski collects waste from butcher shops in the area and takes them to the rendering plant in Newark. Maybe he's running more than fat. His lifestyle has taken a giant leap recently."

"How the hell does that help find Morelli?"

"Morelli was looking into heroin transport. Ziggy's brother runs to Newark frequently in large trucks."

"Thin plus I don't give a damn about heroin, I want Morelli."

"He's hiding out in an old machine shop on in the 1400 block of north Stark."

"Isn't that his car in the next block?"

I grimaced, "Yeah. Somebody commandeered it for me as I don't have a car of my own."

"You stole Morelli's car? Lady, you've got balls."

"I didn't steal it, somebody else did and gave it to me." Damn, it was till receiving stolen property. "As for the balls, they still haven't sprouted."

"I'm taking back my case, give me my files and the keys to Morelli's Jeep. I'm commandeering it from you." Commandeering sounded better than stealing.

As I turned toward the house, I paused, "Joe saw me driving it around town, so be careful. He wasn't in a good mood about it." I went to the house and grabbed the file and keys and handed them to him. "Good luck."

"Yeah, right. It's not luck, it's a good nose," he said as he tapping is proboscis. Morty's beak was memorable, maybe he could solve this case.

I really wanted to nail Joe, but to hell with it. Seeing him on the run would have to be good enough. Also, I've made some questionable choices already. I doubt the Marines would approve.

"You are giving up the chase?" Dad asked.

"Yeah, I still have 10 days leave. Maybe we can zip off together for a few days."

"Sounds like a plan."

I noticed he didn't say he'd have to ask my mother. Good for him. Dad and I continued into the house. Mom and Grandma Mazur were watching people dance the tango on TV. The way the host was fawning over them, I assumed they were important, but I didn't have a clue. Suddenly there was a loud explosion causing the house to shake. Instantly I was under the coffee table. I looked at my father. He was crouched down between his chair and the sofa. We reacted defensively. My mother and grandmother were on their feet, excited. Civilians.

"What was that?" They rushed to the front door. Dad and I peeked out the window and didn't see the explosion source but did see other neighbors pouring out into the street looking around.

Mom and Grandma were already outside. I had to remind myself this wasn't Iraq or Afghanistan. A secondary IAD probably wasn't nearby. So Dad and I went out. By the time we got to the street, several people were pointing north. Suddenly I knew. I took off at a run. When I got to the corner, I saw the burning wreckage of a car with cars in front and back also ablaze. It was Joe's Cherokee. Somebody had rigged a bomb in it, and Morty Beyers triggered it. Did somebody mean to blow up me or Joe? Who had I talked to that I might have offended? Eddie? No. Connie? I hope not. Ranger? That was possible, but why? That left Stark Street. Then again, maybe somebody thought Joe was stupid enough to be driving his car. I guess I was back on the case and driving Big Blue.

-0-

Ranger was sitting in the back booth, waiting for me. "Joe's Jeep blew up last night. A victim was found inside."

I looked at Ranger closely. He was still in my universe as the one who planted a bomb in the car. "Joe's?" I could play the mono word game.

"I commandeered it for you from the apartment."

"Isn't that illegal? Auto theft?"

"There's a big grey area in bounty hunting," he dismissed. I suspected that was a pile of B.S.

"I was driving a stolen vehicle?"

He said nothing, just stared at me.

"Was Joe in the car?" I asked.

"No, too short."

I'm sure Ranger knows when a person burns like that, they curl up making determining height difficult. Then again maybe he was watch when it exploded. I was back to wondering if he was the bomber. "Maybe Mooch or Joe's brother," I offered.

"Both are accounted for."

"Weren't you the one who said there was a contract out on Joe?" I asked, trying to defer the conversation.

Ranger sat and stared at me for a long time. He knew more and was waiting for me to tell him the truth. I wasn't ready. "The car blew up one block from your parent's home. You and the rest of the neighborhood were there watching the flames."

Ranger saw me? He was there? No, that made no sense. "How the hell do you know?"

"Patrol was nearby. The dash cam caught you."

"Morty Beyers stopped by the house demanding the Morelli file and asked about Joe's car in the next block. He decided to commandeer it. Seems to be a lot of that going on. Is a Trenton "thing?"

"Why didn't you tell me you saw Morelli again yesterday?"

How the hell did he know? Another one of those dash cams? Big Brother is watching? I could play coy but decided to let a little new Steph lose, "It is not germane to the conversation. How does it change the outcome? I don't know if whoever set the bomb was going after me or Joe. I suspect Joe, it was his vehicle. As for capturing him, he is currently armed, I'm not."

Ranger stood to leave. "I don't know your game, and I don't trust you. If you need a cheap car for a few days, go to this address. Tell him I sent you."

I pissed off Ranger, but he was throwing a bone. My Henry Higgins walked out.


	5. Chapter 5 Capture

**Chapter 5: Capture**

My father drove me to Al's Auto Repair. "You sure about this, Pumpkin? You can use your mother's car."

"If someone is bombing cars, I don't want yours involved. People have seen Big Blue too much. It's time to get something less obvious."

"I'll wait around until you get a car."

"Thanks, for the offer. Hopefully you taught me well," I said as I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Al looked exactly like what I expected. Medium height, dark hair in need of cutting a year ago, dirty coveralls, cigarette hanging from a mouth surrounded by days old beard. "My clientele is picking up, Sweetie. What can I do for you?"

"Ranger said you can sell me a nondescript car, that runs."

"This ain't exactly a German Car dealership here. That's all Manoso drives."

I stared but said nothing.

Al looked away, "You did say it should run."

"I'm not going to New York or Philly. Something that will get me around the area without leaving a trail of oily smoke or muffler-less roar. I'd also appreciate one that doesn't reek of death or other disagreeable smells. My mother wouldn't understand my odor."

"Still living with mommy?"

"I'd suggest you not continue that thinking," I warned. "It wouldn't be healthy."

Al thought a minute, suspected I wasn't kidding and said, "I suppose you want a registration."

"One good enough to pass muster." I didn't say it had to be legal.

Al smiled. He knew what I meant. "Domestic or import, car, or truck?"

"I don't give a damn about its birth certificate. A car would be less noticeable than a truck."

"Would bullet holes matter?"

"Glass has to be intact, no blood, well, fresh blood."

"Heater?"

"Hell yes, working heater and windshield wipers. I don't believe I've teleported to Phoenix."

"Come, Sweetie, I've got several."

After examining four cars and immediately discounting two, I gave the remaining two a closer exam. Al was surprised when I popped the hoods and crawled under the cars giving each car a visual exam. I started each and finally decided on a Toyota Rav.

"You've got a good eye," Al commented. "I take it you know cars."

"Yeah, my father said a daughter needs to know how to protect herself." I let the insinuation remain in the air. As I dusted the dirt off my pants, "It's pretty sound aside from the dents, but it lacks a bit in tire tread."

When Al quoted an obscene price, I laughed and started walking away.

He countered, "I'll throw in better tires, new wiper blades, top off all fluids and throw in a recharged battery."

"Deal, but I need a receipt for my taxes." I was still getting screwed, but I didn't care.

Once I had a running car, my father left. I returned to watching butcher shops, exactly not what I wanted to do. There was a butcher shop not far from Stark. After growing numb sitting in the car, I decided to take a scenic tour down Stark in my new-old vehicle. I found a parking place and watched. I saw a black Expedition cruise down the street. It was clean and dent free. Connie had mentioned Ranger drove a large black SUV or a black Porsche. I suspected the big SUV was his, but the driver was invisible behind the dark windows. She also mentioned his home address was a vacant lot near downtown. Curious. I could follow the big black vehicle but decided I'd try another day.

Lula and her friend were working a corner several blocks from Benito's gym. Perhaps Lula's size was keeping her warm because the air temperature reflected the winter season. When I saw several home boys looking at my vehicle, I decided it was time to go around to go check out more butcher stores.

As I was passing Benito's gym, Otto emerged from the door. He was hard to miss, he jaywalked in front of me. I almost laughed. Continuing on, he turned into a parking lot with only one entrance and exit. Fortunately he turned the same way I was heading so I stayed to the right, let him pass and followed. Instead of heading towards Newark, he was heading south, down the peninsula between the Delaware River and the Atlantic. He wasn't going to Atlantic City or Cape May. He was heading towards the Salem River. Dad and I used to duck hunt there. Much of the area was rural farms, not much population.

I watched the big truck pull onto a side road. I'd have to let him get far enough ahead he wouldn't realize I was following him. While I waited I consulted a map and cell phone to see what was ahead. Twisting the ignition key, I was surprised by someone pounding on the passenger window, scarring the crap out of me. It was Joe Morelli. Damn, I wish I had that revolver.

"Let me in, they are coming," he yelled as he yanked on the door handle.

There was no time to argue or question who was coming. I let him in but kept my stun gun in my hand.

"Get down, they might see you." He grabbed me, pushed me down, and leaned over me. A moment later, I felt a car pass by. It didn't stop or even slow down. Joe immediately got back up saving himself receiving an electric jolt. Having him touch me was bringing back memories and a whole lot of anger. Maybe it's a good thing I don't have that revolver.

"What the hell are you doing down here, Cupcake?" he said as he sat back up.

I wanted to shove the name cupcake right back into his mouth. "Trying to find you," I snarled. " Vinnie wants you back in jail. To find you I've had to find out what you are working on. Several sources have told me Trenton is part of a heroin pipeline heading. The smack seems to originate here, it's not coming over the bridge. You are trying to find the origination point. Ziggy worked for Jimmy Alpha as a sparring partner for Benito Ramirez. Ziggy ran a few girls on Stark, including Carmen. Carmen is one of your snitches..."

"What put you onto Otto?"

"You did. Isn't that what you were yelling at me yesterday?"

He gaped, "I yelled, y_ou are going down for grand theft AUTO_."

Dang! Sometimes it is better to be lucky than smart. "I tapped the Burg grapevine and Stark Street grapevine. There are no secrets around here. Trenton may actually rank as another Gomorrah."

Joe shook his head, "Damn..."

"To continue," I said, "Otto is Ziggy's brother. Otto makes frequent runs to Newark with his business providing rendering materials. "

"So, Anthony is my brother. He has a truck.

I wish he would quit interrupting me. "Otto's bank account has become suddenly flush lately. I don't believe the animal waste business can justify a $1.2 million home on acreage. Either he as a new income source or he won the lottery."

"And..."

"Call it a lead, Joe," I snarled again. "Who was in the car that just passed?"

"Benito Ramirez and Jimmy Alpha, his manager. Why are you down here?"

"I saw Otto coming out of the gym in Stark. I find it curious Ramirez and Alpha are heading down the same rural road as Otto. It is a little cold to go fishing, and it is not duck season," I offered. "To find you, I have to be close to the suspected heroin movers. And look who hopped into my car, the asshole I've been looking for. Saves me a lot of work, thank you."

He looked a bit worried, "You can't take me in. I need to clear my name."

"Against my better judgment, I'm giving you some slack here. So back to Otto, why is he visiting the gym more frequently? It's not to see his deceased brother."

Joe shook his head in agreement. "Otto rarely came around the gym, then six months ago his visits increased. Now with Ziggy gone, he's there several times a week."

"Is that what Carmen told you the night Ziggy died?"

"I never saw her that night. It was previous conversations. She told me about Otto. She knew what Otto did and was wondering why he came to the gym. What does Alpha need with an animal refuse hauler?"

"Maybe he was there to watch Ziggy spar with Ramirez."

"According to Carmen, Alpha was saying something about expanding. Carmen thought it might refer to Alpha taking on new boxers and wanted Otto to buy-in. As you questioned, Otto has been spending money freely, whereas before he barely had two quarters to rub together. "

"Where is Carmen?" I asked.

"I hope she's hiding and safe. She was a good kid, barely 21, but I suspect they killed her."

"How long was she a snitch?"

"Two years, but mostly she provided information on prostitution and under age girls."

"Why do you suspect they killed her?"

"There's a dent on the top of Ziggy's box truck. I could see it from my roost on Stark as I watched the gym."

"That's thin, Morelli. Maybe a tree limb fell on it."

"The night I went to Carmen's, the apartment window was open wide. If you were trying to air it out in winter, you'd only open it a bit. I think she was killed and tossed out the window onto Otto's truck below."

"By whom?"

"Alpha and Ziggy. Jimmy Alpha was limping for close to a week and is still kinda awkward."

"You believe Ziggy and Jimmy Alpha threw her out of the window, Jimmy followed, wrenching his leg? Ziggy was to shut the window and leave by way of the door, but you showed up instead?"

"Or Ziggy had planned to go out the window after Jimmy, but I was about 15 minutes early for our planned meeting. I may have interrupted them. Ziggy came to the door, gun in hand. Alpha may have been hiding, not yet out the window. He could have picked up Ziggy's gun."

"The neighbors said there was nobody in the apartment."

"They were all outside in the hall, including the guy with the six pack."

"So why the hell didn't you tell your fellow cops?"

"I did, but until Carmen or Ziggy's gun is found, I'm on the hot seat."

"To quote the late Morty Beyers, thin."

"Late Morty Beyers? Vinnie's bounty hunter?"

I guess he hadn't heard. "About your Jeep, Morty Beyers has been in the hospital, and Vinnie was getting worried. So my cousin asked if I'd like a chance to pay you back, again, for Tasty Pastry. Morty recovered faster than I expected and demanded I give back the case and the keys to your Jeep. A couple of minutes later, the Jeep blew up, car bomb, with Morty...I'm assuming inside."

"Who stole my Jeep?"

"They keys were given to me. I'm not sure who exactly took the Jeep."

He looked at me, trying to decide if I was lying. "Are you a bounty hunter?"

"No, I'm a Marine on leave. I work in information gathering. Second, if I were a bounty hunter, I would have picked you up at the old factory on Stark where you are living."

"You knew where I was living?"

"It was easy. Mooch needs a less obvious vehicle to use for laundry delivery."

He was quiet, "Why are you a Marine?"

"My less than stellar Burg life started heading towards the toilet back in your father's garage and the Choo-Choo game. The big flush was when you left me on the floor at Tasty Pastry. Thanks to your poetry on bathroom walls, I was branded a whore, even though I was raped. Sound familiar? Your father assaulted your mother, impregnated her, then she was forced to marry him. Guess, you learned a lot at your father's knee. At least I didn't get pregnant."

He sat back, speechless. He put his hand on his forehead as he shut his eyes. Maybe for the first time in his life, he was coming face to face with his sexual predator ways. I haven't been in town long enough to know about his current activities.

"Don't worry, Asshole, the filth didn't really back up until I met Dickie Orr. I'm sure you know about him fucking Joyce "Barn Yard" when I just happened to walk into the condo and the resulting injuries I sustained, thanks to Dickie. Yeah, sounds just like your old man, doesn't it? Dickie had a heck of a right hook, of course, he claims I fell on my own. You and Dickie were cut from the same cloth, sexual bastards. There must be some genetic mutation running through Burg men to create such moral deviants. Unfortunately, another mutation runs in women allowing them to tolerate such behavior. I escaped. Trust me, Morelli, being a Marine is a heck of a lot more fulfilling than being a brain-dead Burg woman and raising deviant sons."

He sat quiet, he had no words. Like most people in the Burg, they believed they lived a morally sound life. The rest of the world had gone to hell. The Burg remained an island of old fashioned decency. At least that is what they told themselves. "Back to the case, Morelli, why are you sitting here in this car? Where is your vehicle?"

"I need to get on top of Otto's truck's box and search for blood samples."

"Don't you think the snow over the last few days has washed away the evidence? I doubt you would find enough to clear yourself."

"As I said, I didn't see the dent until days later."

"Now you are following, who, Otto or Alpha?"

"Otto, but also Alpha. I was excited to see they were heading the same way, but my car had a flat."

"You saw me following Otto?"

"No, I saw Alpha turn onto this road. There is a blind stretch back there. I was going to hide until he passed, but I saw you pull over, giving me a few seconds to bum a ride from a stranger."

"How do you know Benito is with Alpha?"

I saw them on Stark coming out of the gym together as I started following Otto. I had one eye on Otto in front and another on Alpha in the back. This time Alpha stopped for gas, giving me a few extra minutes to get ahead of them."

"They turned towards the river on the road ahead. What do you think is down there?"

"I'm hoping they are headed to the river to pick up a new heroin shipment. We suspect it is coming in by water."

"Why not the Delaware River instead of the Salem?"

"DEA and Coasties are increasing patrols from the Delaware bay north.

I started the Rav and turned down the road. We were going slow, looking towards the Salem for boats or docks. Joe suddenly said, "There's a dock down there."

I parked in an overgrown shrub area, and we bushwhacked our way back towards the lone dock. Joe was not very quiet. "Joe," I hissed, Let me cut trail. You sound like a bull moose moving through the brush."

"And you can do better?"

"Yes, I've been hunting since I was a small girl. Marines just enhanced the skill. Follow exactly what I do." Joe was probably good in urban movement, but not rural. Obviously, he had never been deer or bird hunting. We were coming up to the dock along the Salem River. "That's Jimmy's car," he whispered.

I took several pictures of the Mercedes and sent them to Eddie Gazarra along with a GPS location and a brief note, "possible H arrival." I didn't have a weapon other than the baseball bat in the car, but I suspected Joe was armed. If Alpha and Ramirez were armed and the boat driver was armed, we'd be seriously out-gunned. I wasn't up for a confrontation. "Let's see if we can find Otto and the truck."

We went back up the hill through the brush and saw the truck. Unfortunately, Otto was out of the cab. "I'll go in, you back me up."

"The hell I will," he whispered with a sneer as if I stepped on his male ego. Well, I guess I did.

"Hold on, Asshole. He knows you. He doesn't know me." I worked my way through the trees and shrubs until I was again on the road, then began walking down, looking at my phone. Seeing Otto, I visually relaxed, "Oh, thank God. My car broke down, and I'm trying to get to Al Ferguson's boat here along the river. Do you recognize this address?"

"Lady, I don't kno..." With that, he collapsed from my stun gun. I quickly searched him and came felt a gun. Reaching into my pockets, I pulled out a handkerchief. I pulled out a revolver as Joe approached.

"Not my weapon," he said as he began to reach over.

"Don't touch it! You aren't a cop right now. You can't confiscate a weapon." I put the revolver under the front seat of the truck cab.

Joe pulled zip ties from a back pocket and started to secure Otto's hands. I returned from the truck cab with tie-down straps and secured his feet. To keep Otto quiet, I shaved a dirty rag in his mouth, hoping he wouldn't swallow it as he regained consciousness. Once Otto began stirring, I walked to the back of the truck's cargo box.

"I thought we were going to the top of the truck box," Joe said.

"I have a theory." I raised the rolling door. Inside were about a dozen 55 gallon drums secured by tie-downs.

"What are you thinking?"

"Any evidence on the roof is gone, but there might be something in here. Open the cans."

The light went off in Joe's head. He tapped on a few, they sounded empty. The sound was louder than I expected.

I hissed, "I said open them, not play Jamaican steel drum music."

He started opening cans. The first was about half full of animal refuse, but there was a brown powder along the side of the rim. "Heroin?" Joe asked.

"I suspect so."

The next can held blood and miscellaneous butcher scraps that were well on their way to stink city. "That's ripe," Joe said. The third can held a body. Carmen Sanchez. I imagine she was pretty ripe as well.

"How did you know?" Joe asked.

Before I could answer, another voice came from outside the truck. "Yeah, how did you know?" We turned to find an Italian male, mid 40's beside a much larger, super fit, dark skin man. While we had not been introduced, I was assuming these were Jimmy Alpha and Benito Ramirez. Jimmy had a 9mm in his hand. Benito's hands were flexing open and closed. His eyes were genuinely wild. Joe and I were boxed in, with no place to run.

"It made sense," I began as I stepped to the drum with the stinking slop. "Otto travels all over the region and has these nice big containers," I said as I swept my hand back and surreptitiously undid a tie-down. "As long as he keeps his products separate, he has a perfect transport system. What I don't know is if the cutting is part of the rendering plant or, does Otto make a stop first, and where?"

"You'll see for yourself, but you'll be in your own drums, dead," Alpha said.

"Then I chose this one," I said as I dropped down and used both of my feet to push over the drum towards the back of the box. The odoriferous brew splattered towards Jimmy Alpha and Benito giving Joe a chance to draw his weapon behind his back and start firing. I ducked behind the drum with Carmen in it, hoping Joe was a good shot. I regretted putting the revolver back into the truck's cab. Then I remembered my father's knife behind my back. Jimmy flew backward. Joe was a pretty good shot winging Benito, but before Joe could put the big guy down, Benito jumped into the cargo box. He may be big, but his strong legs allowed him to jump up easily. If I was not in serious harm's way, I would have been impressed.

Joe had wasted too much ammunition on Alpha. He only had two shots left and while he hit the giant boxer, not were kill shots. Joe was hampered, trying to keep his balance and fire at the same time. When the ammunition was gone, Joe was prepared to go hand to hand with a psychotic world heavyweight boxer. Joe got the first strike in, but Benito sloughed it off like a mosquito bite. Benito's energy and intensity made me wonder if he was fighting like a wounded animal, or he was drug-enhanced. After the boxer delivered a rapid boxing combination, Joe was staggering. I took my father's knife and jumped onto Benito's back. Before he could launch me off, I sliced open his jugular, spraying the inside of the box and Joe with the blood. Benito still had the strength to twirl around and throw me across the bloody wet floor and out of the cargo box. When I got off the ground, I saw Benito fall, landing on Joe. I quickly pulled the door chord, lowering the door, and set the locking bar. I checked Alpha, he was dead.

Returning to the truck cab, Otto was awake, wide-eyed with fright. "You can get into the cab, or I'll leave you here. Alpha and Ramirez are dead. Nobody will rescue you for several hours, maybe not until tomorrow. I'll take you to Trenton if you behave yourself. Otherwise, I'll ditch you like Alpha back in the bushes."

He thought a minute and shook his head in agreement. Once I helped him into the cab, I bent him in such a way as to hog tie him, preventing him from kicking me. I would remove the cloth in his mouth after I made several telephone calls. The thought of an oily rag in my mouth turned my stomach. Maybe Otto and I could have a friendly conversation on the drive back. The truck's cargo box was jumping about and I heard banging. I doubted Ramirez was still alive. It was probably a very upset Joe. No wonder, between the blood, animal waste, and dead bodies, it probably was not pleasant.

Fortunately, Otto left the keys in the truck. I started up the engine and left it idle and called TPD identifying myself, "I am Marine Staff Sergeant Stephanie Plum. Officer Eddie Gazarra will verify my identity. I am 42.3 miles down Route 523, along the Salem. I'm bringing in Joe Morelli as well as the remains of Carmen Sanchez and Benito Rameriez. Jimmy Alpha's body is a little way down Swanson's road off Route 523. Contact DEA and get a team down here to check the cruiser docked at the dock. It may be hauling contraband."

"Say what?" Came the TPD voice.

"Either replay your recording or tell Officer Eddie Gazarra Stephanie Plum is bringing in Joe Morelli. I'll be there in about 30 minutes."

My next call was to Virginia. While I knew it was self-defense, there was a question about my actions.

Otto was moaning, "I don't feel so good."

"Go ahead and heave. You'll still be better off than Carmen."

"I don't want to smell up my truck."

I laughed out loud. It may be the last time I get to laugh for a long time.


	6. Chapter 6 Signed, Sealed, and Delivered

OK, I'll give you the last chapter tonight, as well. This way I can work on older stories not yet published. Still scratching my head for a Christmas story.

This was a trial balloon to see if you like the premise. Apparently, you do. No way Marine Plum can sub for low-esteem, bumbling Plum, but...I'll weave the other books into future stories...someday. The famous shower bar scene will appear. Thank you all for your encouragement and criticism.

**Chapter 6: Signed, Sealed, and Delivered**

It was closer to 75 minutes when I reached a road barricade a block from TPD. Night had fallen, and traffic was heavier than I remembered. Rolling towards downtown on Mercer, traffic stopped. Officers were ahead diverting vehicles away from TPD. Was this because of me? Was there a live shooter situation?

I took out my phone and called, "This is Sergeant Stephanie Plum, I'm in the large box truck outside the barricade on Mercer with Joe Morelli. Where do you want him delivered?"

The dispatcher said to wait while the call was being transferred. "Steph, it's Eddie. Hold on, we are opening up a path to let you through. I'll be there in a minute."

I saw Eddie and another officer in SWAT gear come towards me. I rolled down the window, "It's kinda stinky here and in back. You might want to change to storm gear."

Eddie looked in a caught a whiff of the truck cab, eau de vomit, and rotten animal fat. Wincing, he said, "Where is Joe?"

"I've got Otto Kuleski here with me. Joe is in the back and mad as a bear who tipped over the hornet's nest. Have your biggest and strongest men to corral him when he emerges. There are blood, guts and dead bodies back there, have the guys in storm gear."

I backed into the parking lot while the security gate was closed, sealing off the public's view. More than a dozen people formed the welcoming committee. Most were in police uniforms, others in suits. Eddie came up to the cab, "Are you coming out?"

"Not until Joe is inside. He's a bit pissed off at me."

Sure enough, as soon as the cargo door was raised, Joe burst forth from the box with bodies, blood, and rotting animal carcass waste. He was covered in Benito's blood and the slop on the floor. It took four burly policemen to subdue him as he was wildly cursing and threatening me for locking him in the box. When it was deemed Joe-safe, someone rapped on the door. I opened up to see an Air Force captain. "Are you my JAG rep?"

"Yes, Sargeant, I'm Captain Nelson, from McGuire Dix. I'll be your rep until the Marines send someone from Quantico."

As I stepped down from the truck cab, every cop not wrestling Joe wanted to see me. I saw a few DEA and Homeland jackets in the crowd. Only Eddie spoke, "You said you weren't going to capture him."

"I didn't. He, found me." Before I could say more, my JAG rep reminded me not to speak.

As I walked towards the TPD loading dock, a cop emerged from the back of the box, and heaved splattering my shoes. Apparently, he found Carmen. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Too late, I've already slid through the slop in there, and Otto anointed me. I'm going to have to burn these clothes and scrub with lemons for the next two weeks to get rid of the vomit and rotting animal stench."

"Does that really work?" he asked, wiping his mouth.

"I hope so," I answered.

Eddie Gazarra and the Air Force captain escaped the spew. Another man in a DEA jacket came up and identified himself as Derrick Murphy, DEA. Captain Nelson jumped in, "I need to interview her first before you speak with her." Oh boy, it's going to be a long night.

I was right, it was a long night. After telling my story to my JAG rep, the Marine JAG rep. He must have had a jet pack strapped to his back to arrive so quickly. But it took only one hour before my ripe personal smell got to everyone, and I was allowed to shower and change clothes. TPD sweats and socks were supplied. My shoes were history. It was 22:00 before I started telling my story to the Trenton Police and DEA.

It was after 04:00 when I left TPD. Eddie drove me to a motel after first stopping at a 24-hour grocery to purchase a dozen lemons. When the lemon cut surface and the juice were rubbed over the skin and through the hair, the smell of rotting fat is displaced. I needed a long shower and didn't want to tie up my parent's only bathroom. Eddie had called my father. Dad brought the last of my fresh clothes and boots to the motel.

It was time for Dad to begin his cab runs, so I accompanied him. Afterward, we went to the Waffle House, where I could fill up. I called Al from the Waffle House and told him where my car was, and he was welcome to reclaim it. We were even.

Next, Dad took me to Sunny's, where I picked up the Colt .38 Ranger had purchased for me as well as the gun permit. I also had Dad pick out a new defensive knife as his old one was now police evidence. Sunny would not let me leave until I told her the scam I was running on Ranger. Well, I couldn't tell her the truth, but my cover story caused her to bark out a hoarse laugh, "Sweetie, nobody pulls nothing over Ranger, but you sure have. You remind me a lot of him. You sure you never served together?"

"Never. I have enough trouble with fellow Jarheads who consider themselves cocks of the walk. I sure as hell don't need an Army Ranger in my life."

Dad pulled into the visitor parking at a nondescript building. It was small and rundown, but cameras covered the outside. "Welcome to Rangeman. May I ask your name and who you wish to see?" said the voice through the intercom.

"I am Marine Staff Sergeant Stephanie Plum returning Mr. Manoso's handgun."

"Ma'am, aside from the handgun, do you have any other weapons?"

"No, sir."

"Please have your identification in hand when I release the door. One man will take your box. Then stop to the desk and present your identification."

"Yes, sir," I answered. Talk about paranoid, Rangeman may be more than a simple single story business in a nondescript building in downtown Trenton. This security was nearly equal to trying to get into the Pentagon.

The door was buzzed open, and a lovely hunk of a man stood inside. He had to be 6'2" with significant muscle mass in the chest, shoulders, and arms but a tight waist. His black cargo pants strained over the muscular thighs. His coloring was similar to Ranger's, but his eyes were green. The man behind the desk was standing. He was huge. I thought of the black obelisk in the movie "2001." I could understand why a security company would hire above size employees. Personally, I was male review. Most of the Marines I served with were average height though very fit, not heavily muscled.

The man behind the desk took my identification and started typing on his keyboard. While he was tapping, he paused and listened to his earbud. "Ranger would like to talk to you, sergeant, but he's in the midst of a long-distance phone call. He will be available in 25 minutes."

"Extend my apologies to Mr. Manoso, I have other obligations, but I can meet him at the diner at 16:00." My other obligations concerned a bed and pillow. I was exhausted.

The big man was surprised. I refused Manoso. I extended my hand for my identification and turned back to the front door. When I heard the buzzer release, I said smartly, "Thank you, sirs." And walked out to where my father was waiting.

The two Rangemen inside exchanged raised eyebrows. What just happened? Now they were going to have to tell Ranger the lady sergeant disregarded his order. Well, it wasn't exactly an order, Ranger did say "ask the sergeant." The big man chuckled, "She's got balls."

Angling into the car, Dad asked, "Where to now, Pumpkin?"

I stifled a yawn, "Bed. Wake me at 15:00. I have an appointment downtown at 16:00."

I woke up to knocking, "Pumpkin, it's 15:00." Four hours of sleep wasn't enough judging from the headache, pounding my brain. It would have to do. I redressed in the black wool pants, black turtleneck sweater, and my military boots. I pulled the legs down as far as I could to hide the tan color. Burg dress codes would snicker at desert tan boots under black clothing. I needed to replace my ruined shoes. Pulling my hair into a tight military bun, I dashed to the bathroom, attended to nature, my teeth, and washed my face from sleep. Adding a bit of mascara and lip gloss, I finished dressing in a black hoodie with USMC on the upper chest. "I can take a bus downtown, Dad. I don't know how long the meeting will last. From there, I'll go to the mall for new shoes."

"Call me from the mall, he said. "I'll come to get you, and we can have dinner." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his new knife. "Here, I'd feel better knowing you were armed."

I appreciated the jester and took it. My stun gun needed a charge, but I still had pepper spray in my pocket. The baseball bat was left in the Toyota.

The walk from the bus stop to the diner was a block and a half. I spied a black woman, an enhanced size, wrapped in an old coat step towards me. One hand was down at her side, empty. The second was holding the coat closed. "Remember me?"

"Yeah, Lula from Stark. How did you know I'd be here?"

"You've been meetin' with Ranger at this here diner. Not much goes on here, this close to the Burg, that ain't known. I asked around."

Damn Burg grapevine! "OK, now why are you here?"

"I came to thank you for what you did. Word is you killed Alpha and Benito. We girls gonna be safer, but you need to be careful. Alpha owed a lot of money to people."

"First, I only killed Rameriz, Joe killed Alpha. These people Alpha owed money, are they going to be upset?"

"The word on the street is Alpha's bankers were threatening to kill Benito to cash in on the life insurance. They will take advantage of his death to get their money."

"Who had the contract on Joe?"

"Alpha and Ziggy. Joe was getting too close to the heroin supply."

"Did you know Alpha and Ziggy were behind it?"

"I suspected such, but was still gathering proof."

"Should I worry about the supply train being derailed?"

"It's only temporary. Somebody else will take over."

I noticed Lula's speech was improving. Less gutter English. "What's your true story, Lula?"

She chuckled, "You are quick. I'm an informant for the government. I've been working for them for four years now. They say I'm free now. I want to do something else, but all I've ever been is a ho."

"Contact Vincent Plum bail bonds. He needs a new bounty hunter. You can start with the low bonds and learn the trade. Just stay away from Vinnie..."

"I know Vinnie. His perversions are well known on Stark. I've never touched him," she said with a shiver. "What about you? What you gonna do?"

Pointing to my sweatshirt, I said, "I'm a Marine, on leave to see my family. Vinnie is my cousin. I was just helping him out."

"Too bad, you gotta leave. We could use you around here. You've got balls."

"Nope, they haven't sprouted yet. Take care, Lula, but watch your language. You need to keep your cover."

"Yo bet yo ass, White Girl," she smiled.

I was mentally preparing myself for the confrontation with Ranger Manoso, born Ricardo Carlos Manoso. Yes, I know who he is. If he wanted to know why I presented myself to him as a Burg woman, I couldn't tell him. I had to stick with my cover.

I walked into the diner fifteen minutes early. It was open until 20:00. I would have thought the bars would be filling up with downtown workers, not the diner. Then I noticed people at the check stand picking up carry-out bags. People were stopping and taking home dinner.

Manoso was sitting in the back booth watching me. His granite face showed nothing. I was surprised he showed at all. He walked out on me several days before, and I refused to see him in his tiny fortress today.

"Ranger," I said succinctly as I stepped up to the table. Steeling myself for a tongue lashing, I sat down.

"Steph, or do you prefer Staff Sergeant Plum?" he sneered.

"Stephanie when here in Trenton." Only my friends called me Steph, and he was not my friend.

"I was talking to Captain MacIntosh when you stopped by earlier."

The captain was my group leader, but not my CO. Manoso has creds with the Pentagon, curious. I didn't respond to his statement.

He sat for a moment and said, "Ziggy's gun was found in the container with Carmen."

I said nothing. It seemed early to come up with a positive identification unless Otto was talking. He was not a good criminal, flaunting this money the way he was. How did I feel about Joe _probably_ getting off the hook? I could not be too disappointed, justice for Carmen would be served. My justice for Morelli would have to wait. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

"Preliminary findings for you will be no fault. You can return to Quantico."

How did he know about Quantico? My assignment was kept low key. "You seem sure of the investigation's outcome." I was challenging him.

Ranger sat quietly, observing me. I showed nothing, I hoped. He had a strong military leadership presence. I have encountered individual officers who could stare down a marble statue. I suspected Manoso was another. I had my granite face on to match his. It was a war of wills to see who would break first. He was waiting for me to ask a question. Did he want me to ask how he got his information? I wasn't going to cave. I'm very, very good at this game. I honed it listening to my mother's tirades, the Burg gossip, and backstabbing. My father helped me with my granite face, the Marines enhanced my control.

I waited for him to ask why I pretended to be a bounty hunter trainee. He didn't speak. We sat staring at each other for close to 10 minutes, saying nothing. I broke first. "With your permission, sir. I have a bus to catch." I started to stand and saw irritation in his eyes. I was a lowly sergeant, I should not have been the one to break our "meeting." But this was not a military situation. He was not my commander.

With barely moving his lips, he uttered, "If you decide or are forced to pull the pin at the end of your contract and need a job, you've got one at Rangeman."

"Thank you, sir, but it would have to be one hell of a job to get me back here."

"It would be."

"I'll take it under advisement." I had been warned, Ranger Manoso was an enigma. No, Churchill said it best, Ranger Manoso is a riddle wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. I was going to have to find the key.

As I began to open the diner's front door, three large men dressed like Ranger stood back. Was this why he didn't speak? He was waiting for others, but I was early? I recognized two. The green-eyed Latino and the giant black obelisk, but the third was equal in size to the Latino but was brown-skinned with cornrows for his hair. All three were sex statues. Man, I wanted to rub my hands up and down those abs. Geez, I needed to get laid or go on a thirty-mile run in full gear. Then I noted the Glocks on their hips like Ranger's and said, "That idiot thought I needed a girly .38 revolver with a 2" barrel."

The three laughed as I walked away. I had gotten only several yards away when I heard a loud voice, "Staff Sergeant Plum, attention!"

I stopped and spun around at attention. All three men were saluting me. "Good job, Sergeant," said the very tall, massive black man. I snapped a salute, spun, and continued on my way.

Ranger came out of the door and watched my retreating figure. The Latino said, "That was one fast meeting. Either she turned down your offer to work for us, or you pissed her off."

Shaking his head, Ranger said, "Never, ever play poker with her. She played me from the start. It's like I just met myself in a white woman's body."

"Another Jean Ellen?" the Latino asked.

Ranger huffed. "I take that as an insult, Santos. Plum's CO briefed me. Marine Plum would chew up Jean Ellen and spit her out in small pieces."

"That I would pay to watch," Santos replied.

-0-

I had walked two blocks carefully watching for surveillance from the street or from one of Rangeman's big black vehicles. When I deemed it safe, I stepped into a doorway and pulled out my phone.

"Report, Sergeant," came the voice.

"Mission accomplished, sir."

"Excellent. Any problems?"

"No, sir. I established myself back here as we discussed. Manoso is confused and upset. He contacted MacIntosh like you suspected. Sir. I apologize for the blood."

"Couldn't be helped. Trenton Police are in a hurry to bury the whole thing. There will be no charges against you."

"Manoso said as such. Manoso got his info from TPD. I'm impressed with the rapid inter-agency JAG team arriving on the scene."

"No, I had both men on standby. They were activated before you reached Trenton."

"Thank you, sir."

"Did Manoso offer you a position in Rangeman?"

"Yes, sir. I told him I would take it under advisement."

"Excellent. Report back to Quantico in seven days. Step two will commence when you return. In the meantime, give my regards to your father, Hawkeye."

"Thank you, General."


End file.
